O Little Town of Bethlehem
by Saintsavory
Summary: This story has nothing to do with baby Jesus being born in Bethlehem. Just another Vauseman Christmas story.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: AU; I don't own these characters. Another Hallmark inspired Christmas story for you! (Though I heard that Hallmark pulled ads that featured two women kissing, so I'm boycotting Hallmark right now and would like to shove this story in their face.) As with all my holiday tales, this one is meant to be fairly light and filled with Christmas spirit, so if you're looking for a thick, juicy plot, this isn't the story for you. I love writing about Christmas, so again, this was a treat for me. Enjoy!

* * *

I have the privilege of bringing truth to the world. I've gone to great lengths and overcome countless obstacles to ensure that the news I report is quick, accurate and honest. Although my first three years of working for the Associated Press focused on foreign service and its effect on US policies, I'm now tasked with writing about domestic issues that range from rocket launches to trends in higher education. I rarely write fluff pieces, but when my editor presented an opportunity to write a holiday story, I jumped at the chance.

I've always loved Christmas. When I was very young, I baked sugar cookies with my grandmother and placed two of them on a plate for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Although that tradition faded as I got older, I still relished the joy of finding presents under the tree on Christmas morning. Even when I was a moody teenager, I hummed holiday hymns in the school hallways and loved picking out the perfect gifts for family and friends. I wrapped each of them with care and enjoyed watching everyone rip the colorful paper with wild abandon to get to whatever was inside.

As an adult, I still enjoy the holidays, but I'm usually on assignment in November and December, leaving me little time to trim my house with Christmas décor. In fact, I haven't bought a tree for the past two years simply because I wasn't home enough to enjoy it. So when my editor asked me to travel to one of the most "Christmassy" towns in America, I couldn't wait to surround myself with holiday glee and festivities.

Instead of driving the five-and-a-half-hour route in the snow, I chose to fly to a regional airport, rent a car, and make my way to Bethlehem, New Hampshire: population 940. I listen to Christmas music along the way, turning the volume up when I hear a few of my favorites.

From the moment I pull off the exit on I-93, I'm transported to a European village complete with window flower boxes, lederhosen, garland strung over Main Street, and colorful lights as far as the eye can see. I marvel at just how decked out the town is as I turn right at the green & white sign that marks the entrance to The Crawford Notch Inn. There's a cottage on the right side of the street, and about 30 yards on the left sits a three-story, ornate white house with a wraparound porch and blue shutters. There's a single electric candle in each window and snow piled high on the roof. To the left of the inn is a big red barn with white trim. One of the doors is open in the top right quadrant, and I notice a horse with its head sticking out.

I park next to a Suburban and exit my rental car, stepping on a couple inches of snow. I vividly remember the sound of crunching snow on Christmas mornings in Connecticut when I'd go outside to ride my new scooter or to build a snowman. The memory makes me smile as I take in a big whiff of fresh, wintery air.

I strap my laptop bag across my body and drag my suitcase to the sidewalk as best as I can in the snow. As soon as I reach the porch, I hear a song being played on a piano and laughter in the air. I open the door and the sound of a little bell that jingles above my head announces my entrance.

"Hello?" An older but well-kept woman appears from around the corner.

"Hi, I'm checking in." I remove my wool hat. "The name is Piper Chapman."

"Welcome.." She smiles. "I'm Diane Vause, the innkeeper."

"Hi."

She glances at my suitcase. "Did you have trouble getting your bag up here in all that snow?"

I follow her gaze and notice the snow on the wheels. "Once I reached the sidewalk it was fine."

"I asked John to plow the parking lot this morning," she complains, shaking her head. "But I guess tending to the horses was more important." Her light tone convinces me she's not all that surprised that this John person hasn't plowed the parking area yet.

The lobby is adorned with tasteful Christmas decorations and poinsettias on almost every surface, and it smells like pastries and hot chocolate. "You have a lovely inn."

"Thanks. It's been in my family for three generations." She writes something on a pad of paper. "Looks like you got our last room. We're usually sold out months in advance, but we had a cancellation last week."

"Lucky for me."

A little girl runs around the corner. "I can't play _Silent Night_ on my own, Gram."

"Just a minute, Clara. I'm with a guest."

I smile at her. "Were you the one playing the piano?"

She nods.

"You were doing an excellent job."

"I'm practicing for the Christmas recital." She reaches into her pocket. "Do you want a candy cane?"

"I'd love one." I take it from her. "Thank you."

"What's your name?"

I reach out a hand. "I'm Piper. What's yours?"

"Clara, and I'm in second grade," she states proudly.

"So, you're a big girl now."

She nods. "But I need some help playing the piano."

"I used to play when I was your age," I say. "Maybe I can help you later?"

Her face lights up. "I'd really like that."

"I'll just need a credit card to pay for incidentals," Diane interrupts.

I hand her my Visa.

"Gram, can she help me play _Silent Night_?"

"If she has the time."

I grin at the little girl. "I'll make time."

"Do you want to show her around the inn?"

Clara nods. "I can help carry your bags, too."

"That's very nice of you." I hand her my suitcase. "This one has four wheels and you can twirl it like this."

She takes the bag, mirroring the twirling motion with my suitcase. "Purple is my favorite color."

Diane leads the way to the room with the piano where a couple is sitting at a small table putting a puzzle together. There's a red sofa flanked by two plaid armchairs each with a blanket strung over the back. The room is decorated with real garland hanging along the walls and framing a bookcase, as well as a stout Christmas tree with exquisite ornaments. Near the far window is a miniature village with a train that runs along the perimeter.

"This is Santa's village," Clara says. "I helped set it up."

I bend down to look more closely at the figurines. "I always wanted to have a miniature village."

She blinks up at me. "Why don't you?"

I shrug. "I guess I travel too much."

"Oh. Well, if you want to get one, you can set it up like this."

"I'd definitely set it up just like this."

Diane starts walking down the hallway, and Clara follows with my suitcase in tow. "This is where the guests have breakfast. Would you like a Danish?"

I sniff the air that smells like cinnamon and icing. "Is that what smells so good?"

"I make pastries just about every morning," Diane responds. "You're welcome to have as many as you'd like. There's also hot cocoa in this container and coffee in the carafe over here. We've got a variety of tea in the cupboard. Help yourself to whatever you'd like day or night."

"And she makes cookies every night," Clara adds, lifting the glass lid and revealing a tray of oatmeal raisin cookies. "My favorite is peanut butter, but these are pretty good if you pick out the raisins."

I take a cookie. "They look delicious."

"Any of the guests who want to participate help me decorate Christmas cookies on Thursday nights during the holidays."

"That's tonight," I state.

"And you're welcome to help," Diane replies.

Clara glances at her grandmother. "Are we making gingerbread houses tomorrow?"

"That's on Saturday evening, hon."

"Oh." She scratches her head. "I lose track of the days when I'm on Christmas break."

We step into a large room that abuts the lobby and the massive fireplace that I noticed in the lobby can be accessed by both rooms. This room is also decorated with four stockings hanging from the mantle and another Christmas tree with a variety of what appear to be homemade ornaments. There's holiday music coming from a record player as a family of four assembles popcorn garland.

"Hi, Clara. Wanna help?" a girl about the same age asks.

"I'm giving a tour right now, but I'll help later," she replies.

"Hi there." The man waves and smiles.

"Hello." I wave. "That's probably the longest strand of popcorn garland I've ever seen."

"We want it to be the longest one ever," the boy replies.

"Looks like you're well on your way."

"This is the family room," Diane offers. "We've got board games, books, a record player and an ornament decorating station over there. All the ornaments hanging on this tree are made by our guests."

Clara walks to the tree and points to a reindeer made with popsicle sticks. "I made this one."

The children rush over, each pointing to an ornament they made.

"They're all lovely." I smile.

"You can make one if you want."

"I'll definitely make one before I leave."

"Mike, do you need more popcorn?" Diane asks.

"I think this last bag will do the trick," he answers, shaking the bag of popped corn.

"Alright." Diane turns around. "Let's get Piper to her room."

Clara wheels my suitcase down the wooden floored hallway. "What's her room number?"

Diane glances at the keychain. "Twelve."

She stops in front of the door and waits for her grandmother to open it. Both step aside, allowing me to enter first. It's an unfussy room with calming colors, simple antiques and high ceilings. There's a fresh wreath on the inside of the door and a blooming Christmas Lily on the bedside table. Nothing at the inn is gawdy—it's _perfectly_ Christmas.

I set my laptop bag on the desk. "This is great."

"You have a view of the pond." Clara walks to the window. "We skate on it in the winter."

I stand next to her and admire the iced over pond. "I haven't skated in years."

"We have things you can hold onto if you're scared," she offers.

"I might need that if I try," I chuckle.

"Here's a list of activities at the inn during your stay." Diane hands me a flyer.

"Thank you." I glance at the list, noticing a few of the activities they've already told me about. "I'm assuming there are other things going on in town as well?"

Diane snorts as if that's an understatement. "There's something every day for people of all ages. They don't call us America's Christmas Town for nothing."

I smile. "I can't wait to check it out."

"Will you play the piano with me now?" Clara asks.

I bend down to her eye level. "I'm going to unpack and get settled, and then I promise to play with you for a little while."

"Ok." Clara takes off.

"Don't feel like you have to oblige her," Diane says through a smile.

"I don't mind at all." I return her smile. "It's been a long time since I've enjoyed Christmas through a child's eyes."

"It's quite something." She turns to leave, then spins around. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here's a map of town. The places listed in green are stores and the ones in red are restaurants."

I glance up at her. "There are only two red ones."

"We have two restaurants." She lifts her shoulders. "You can also get dinner at The Mischief, the local pub, or lunch at Red's General Store. She makes the best Beef Stroganoff in New Hampshire."

"Great."

"If you have any questions or need anything, I'm happy to help." She walks into the hallway. "Enjoy your stay."

"I'm sure I will."

I turn around and admire the quaint room once more before unpacking and setting up my work station at the desk right next to the window. I have no doubt this is going to be a good trip.

* * *

I'd done a little research prior to my trip to learn about the history of Bethlehem and how it made its mark on the holiday season, and it all seems to point to an old garland factory that dates back to the early 1900s. Mount Hale Garland claims to be the oldest shop of its kind in the United States and has gone from making simple boughs of holly to selling elaborate garland, wreaths, and Christmas trees. It has been featured in a couple of holiday movies as well as articles about the spirit of Christmas. Trouble is, the owner is said to be a Scrooge.

I arranged to talk to the owner and take a tour of the facility tomorrow morning. Scrooge or not, there must be something redeeming about the person if he wants to work at a Christmas factory all year long.

I open my planner and glance at the list of places I want to go and people I'd like to meet. Since there's nothing pressing to do tonight, I decide to help Clara with _Silent Night_ and then walk around town to get a feel for things.

I breeze into the piano room. "Sounds like you've got the hang of it."

Clara looks up at me. "I can play the chorus, but the verses are hard."

I slide next to her on the bench. "Can you read music?"

"Not very well."

"It's been a very long time since I've played." I pick up the book, tracing the notes. "Is this a C-Sharp?"

She nods. "And that's a G and a B-Flat."

"Can you read all the notes on this line?"

She reads them perfectly.

"You're way better than I am."

That makes her giggle.

"Try to say the note, and then strike the key."

"Like this?" She reads each one and hits the corresponding key.

"Yes." I place the book back on the stand. "Once you get a hang of that, you'll remember where your fingers are, and then you can replace the notes with words if you want."

Clara does this for about 15 minutes with some success.

I smile. "Look at that, you've already improved."

"Really?"

"I mean, you were good before, but now you're even better."

"I'm going to show Gram." She swings her legs over the bench and runs into the reception area. "Gram!"

I hit a few keys of my own, cringing at how I've lost the ability to play.

"You can show me after Piper's done," Diane says when she enters the room.

"Oh, no. I wasn't playing. In fact, I was just about to leave." I stand. "It's all yours."

"Don't forget, we'll decorate cookies around 7:30 if you're interested," Diane offers.

I tug on my thick coat. "I hope to be back by then."

"Thanks for helping me," Clara says as she hops back onto the piano bench.

I smile. "You're welcome."

I toss my scarf around my neck and slip on my gloves as I make my way outside. The sun has just set, so it's still light outside, but the colorful lights lining the streets are enough to lead the way even if it was pitch black. The inn is situated on one of the side streets at the town's entrance, so when I drove in earlier, I didn't make it very far down Main Street before heading straight to the inn.

I shouldn't be as shocked as I am by the holiday decorations all along the main thoroughfare. Not a single place is spared from decorations. Every store has a different Christmas theme, but each of the gas lanterns along the street is donned with a wreath and a plaid bow. There's holiday music coming out of every nook and cranny, but none of the songs overtake a space. As I pass an antique store, Bing Crosby sings his famous song, and the very next store, which happens to be a beauty salon and spa has soothing Christmas music playing. Across the street, I watch two women set up a hot cocoa stand and a child hang a sign that says _Hot Chocolate, Donate What You Can for Children in Need_. Surely, I've stepped into Christmas paradise.

"Merry Christmas!" A man nods as he walks down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

"Merry Christmas," I reply, looking back at him and wondering if everyone is touched with the Christmas spirit in this little town.

The shops along Main Street go on for a solid three blocks, and there are two side streets that appear to have stores on them as well. I spot one of the two restaurants with fresh garland wrapped around the four columns in the front and dotted with small, white lights. I remember glancing at the menu the day I got this assignment, but damned if I can remember any of the food listed. I keep walking and can smell flame-grilled burgers before I reach Betty's Burgers. My stomach growls as I realize I haven't eaten more than an oatmeal raisin cookie since breakfast.

I journey down a side street to find a floral shop, a church and The Mischief Pub. There's laughter flowing from inside, and I decide that's the place I'll grab a beer and a bite to eat.

As soon as I step inside, I'm transported to Ireland. I visited Flannagan's Pub just outside of Dublin a couple years ago, and this reminds me of that warm, friendly Irish bar. There's a fireplace to the left with two wingback chairs occupied by two elderly men; four picnic-like tables stained dark brown; and a long, wooden bar with a copper railing and 10 to 12 stools lining the bar. Six of them are occupied and two of the tables are shoved together for what looks like an office happy hour gathering. They're the ones laughing loudly as they refill half-empty pint glasses with dark beer.

The jolly man behind the bar simply must have an Irish accent—I'd be disappointed if he didn't. I sit on a stool, and he approaches me while drying a glass.

"Welcome to The Mischief," he says. "Don't recall seeing you around. Are you visiting Bethlehem for the holidays?"

I remove my gloves. "Hi, yes. What a charming town."

"That it is." His Irish accent is perfect. "What can I get ya?"

"I'll have a pint of Harp." I take off my hat and place it along with my gloves on the stool next to me.

He pours the beer into a traditional pint glass. "Care for something to eat?"

"I'd love to see a menu."

He slides the beer and a menu my way. "Let me know when you're ready, dear."

"Thank you." I sip the cold beer and enjoy the way the bubbles feel going down my throat. I scan the menu and sure enough, they serve traditional Irish food. "I'll have the classic corned beef and cabbage, please."

He smiles. "Good choice."

While sipping my beer, I observe the people around me. Everyone seems jovial and friendly. If I had to guess, I'd say the couple sitting at the bar two stools down are in a new relationship. One stool down from them is a man about the same age as the bartender and I wonder if the two have been life-long friends. One thing I notice is that Christmas music is not playing; instead, it's folksy music in the background. The pub is still decorated with a holiday theme, but it's not overdone. There's garland across the mantle that's dotted with tall, ivory candles and a Christmas tree in the corner next to a two-top table in the window. It appears that the ornaments are Irish alcohol themed—a few Jameson balls and Guinness squares.

My body is half-turned towards the front of the bar, and I watch a younger couple enter, wiping their snowy boots on the mat.

A man waves to the larger party. "Sorry we're late."

"You're not too late to buy another pitcher," one of the patrons replies with a nearly empty pitcher of beer in hand.

I could count on one hand the times I've seen such cheerfulness in the bars of Manhattan.

Another person breezes in behind the couple.

The bartender approaches me with a tilted head tilt "You might scoot over one stool if you don't mind."

"Me?" I point to my chest. "Oh, ok." I stuff my hat and gloves into my purse and hang it on a hook under the bar as I move to the other stool.

A woman steps up to the bar, and I can't help but notice how _striking_ she is with her long, black hair and tall stature. Her skin looks like porcelain under her secretary glasses and her lips are plump and colored with red lipstick.

"Hi, Liam," the woman greets the bartender in an almost husky voice.

"Hello, dear." He fills a schooner with Guinness, and then brings it to her, making me think she's a regular. "How was work?"

"Fucking insane." She hangs her coat on the back of the stool. "I hate this time of year."

The bartender looks somewhat apologetic—like he understands why she's grumpy. "I know you do."

She takes a sip of beer, then looks my way, doing a double take.

Suddenly self-conscious, I tuck a strand of hair behind ear.

"Were you sitting here?" she asks.

"I…" Why can't I form a coherent sentence?

"I ask because the seat is warm," she says.

I swallow hard. "He asked me to move."

The woman lets out a light laugh. "And you obeyed?"

I shrug. "I didn't want to take a regular's seat."

"Mmm," comes out as a grunt mixed with wonder. "Clearly you're a visitor."

I fumble with a coaster. "Why do you say that?"

She smirks. "Everything about you screams that you're here for the holiday festivities—the pointy shoes, black slacks, red sweater."

I'm taken aback by her bluntness. "Is there something _wrong_ with that?"

For the second time, the woman glances at me from head to toe. "No."

I don't relent. "Then why would you make such a comment?"

"From November through December, Bethlehem is flooded with tourists who don't know how to drive in the snow; who dress like they're in Manhattan; and who crowd restaurants with their family and friends." She tosses her head back and forth. "It's a pain in the ass for people who've lived here their whole lives."

"And here I was, thinking everyone in town was filled with the Christmas spirit," I respond.

Ignoring my statement, she turns her body more fully towards the bar. "Liam, can I place an order to go?"

"Here you go." The bartender sets down my plate of food, and then looks at the woman. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have a small seafood chowder and the beef stew with extra carrots."

"Want some soda bread thrown in there, too?"

She nods. "Thanks."

I dig into my food and try to ignore the woman next to me. Her presence is powerful though—not just the way she looks or how she carries herself—her scent of pine and powder assaults my senses.

My mouth betrays me. "You grew up here?"

She glances at me as if I have the audacity to continue talking to her. "Yeah."

"And I take it you're not a big fan of the holidays?"

She sips her beer. "I live and breathe it all year long, so no."

"I think it would be amazing to be surrounded by festive decorations all year." I pop a piece of cabbage into my mouth.

"Most people who love Christmas think the same thing," she replies. "But it gets old."

"It wouldn't get old to me."

She glances at me again, a hint of a grin dangling on her lips.

"I love all things Christmas," I continue. "The songs, the decorations, the gifts, the trees…it's all magical."

"I don't share your bright-eyed view of the holidays." She pauses and then changes the subject. "Are you here alone?"

I wipe my mouth after eating a bite of mashed potatoes. "I am."

Her body opens up just a bit. "That doesn't bother you—being alone for the holidays?"

"Not really." I shrug. "I'm here for work, so it's not like I chose to come to the most Christmassy town in America by myself."

"Let me guess: you're a movie scout or a writer," she says.

"How did you know?"

It's her turn to raise her shoulders. "People who come to Bethlehem alone this time of year are usually one of those two things."

I don't divulge my profession. "Interesting."

She finishes her schooner.

I take a few more bites of corned beef and cabbage before feeling full. "May I have the bill, please?"

"Sure thing." He sets a handwritten receipt on the counter.

I slide my credit card toward him. "This was delicious."

"Glad to hear it." The bartender smiles. "I hope to see you again."

"I'm sure you will." I return his smile, and then stand to put my winter gear back on. I turn to the woman next to me. "I hope one day you find joy in the Christmas season."

Her lips tug up slightly. "Thanks."

I issue a sad smile, wanting to comment on how beautiful she is and how much more beautiful she'd be if she'd just smile.

The bartender brings a paper bag of food to her. "I put the extra carrots in a small container."

"Thanks, Liam."

I zip my coat and head outside, turning back once to watch the woman's interactions with the old man. I can't help but wonder if he feels sorry for her, too.

A blast of cold air smacks me in the face the moment I step outside. It has started to snow, but it's the wind that's piercing. I decide to walk around the block to see if there are other stores on a side street, and when I turn the corner, I see a shivering gray cat.

"Hi, kitty." I bend down and hold my hand out.

It rushes over, rubbing against my hand and meowing.

I check for a collar and name tag. "Are you lost?" There's a name tag but no address on the back. "Marshmallow?"

It meows again.

A voice comes from behind. "Trying to convince a cat to get into the Christmas spirit?"

I look up and see the woman from the pub.

"She obviously belongs to someone." I hold out the name tag. "And she's freezing."

The woman sets her bag of food on the ground, then picks up the cat. "Are you the Henderson's cat?"

It meows.

"I think I know who it belongs to. Will you grab my bag?"

I do as she asks and walk with her down the street while she carries the cat.

"I don't know if I would've stopped if I saw a random cat on the side of the road," she says.

"That doesn't surprise me," I reply.

She cradles the cat against her chest. "Just because I don't like Christmas doesn't make me a bad person."

"You just admitted that you wouldn't have stopped to help a lost cat," I respond. "_That_ makes you a bad person."

We walk in silence, and I wonder what happened in this woman's life to make her so bitter.

"Here we are." She walks up three steps to a brick house and rings the doorbell. "I hope this is where you live."

A man and a pre-teen answer the door.

"Marshmallow! There you are!" The girl reaches for the cat.

"Where did you find her?" the man asks, relief etched on his face.

"Not far from the pub," the dark haired woman answers. "I thought it might be yours."

"Thank you so much," he responds. "Would you like to come in for some hot cocoa?"

"No thanks," she says.

"Ok, well thanks again and Merry Christmas."

I return his sentiment, but the dark haired woman turns away.

"I need to bring dinner back for my family," she says.

"Don't let me stop you."

"Try not to stumble upon any more cats." She walks in the opposite direction.

"I'll try."

I head down the quiet neighborhood street, taking my time despite the frigid air. Instead of letting the woman who hates Christmas bring me down, I focus on the beauty of Bethlehem. Every house is lit with Christmas lights—some are strung along every surface while others have a simple strand of lights around the doorframe. I don't know how someone could _not_ smile at this enchanting setting.

I turn the corner and head back to Main Street where carolers are signing in front of Red's General Store. Again, I smile as I step inside to see what treats await me. On the left side is a small café with a few tables and chairs. The chalkboard sign lists their operating hours from 11 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. Underneath the hours of operation is today's special: French dips. I _love_ a good French dip and am sorry to have missed it. The right side of the store begins with a display of holiday foods and gifts. I'm tempted to buy one of everything. The rest of the space is a small grocery store with a nice selection of breads and cheeses along with two shelves of wine.

I pick up a bottle of Petit Verdot, a small baguette and a few ounces of Robiola cheese. If I find myself writing at the inn most of the day tomorrow, I can snack on the bread & cheese. Tonight, I'll settle for a glass of wine.

* * *

I arrive back at the inn to a much more lively scene than when I checked in. There's a couple sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the lobby, a family of five in the smaller room, and an older woman playing _Frosty the Snowman_ on the piano.

As I pass the family room on the backside of the lobby, I notice another six or seven people playing board games and decorating ornaments. I decide to change into jeans and a sweatshirt before joining the festivities with a bunch of strangers who seem to appreciate the holiday as much as I do. Although the woman at the pub was captivating, she's not going to ruin my Christmas spirit.

I store the cheese in the mini-fridge, and then strip out of my clothes, unavoidably thinking about the dark haired woman. Something must have happened to make her so cold. Or maybe she works in a town that lives and breathes Christmas 24/7 and that simply gets exhausting. Perhaps that takes the specialness out of the holiday. Still, I'd love to experience Christmas every day.

I return to the great room with a book and a glass of wine. There's a big, leather chair positioned to the side of the fireplace that looks like the perfect spot to read. I set my glass on the side table, open my book, and am interrupted by a boy. I recognize him as one of the kids stringing popcorn garland earlier today.

He holds out pieces of red and green construction paper. "Do you want to make an ornament?"

"Sure." I close my book and follow him to the table in the back of the room.

He shows me all of the material available to make ornaments. "Be careful with the glue. It's really sticky."

"Got it." I sit across from a woman who is presumably the child's mom. "Hi, I'm Piper."

"Hi," she replies. "I'm Belinda and this is my son, Chase."

I smile. "It's nice to meet you."

We make small talk while I design an ornament with a pinecone, red pipe cleaners and paperclips. Turns out the family is from Philadelphia and comes to Bethlehem every Christmas.

At 7:30, a bell rings and there's excitement in the air.

"Attention everyone." Though I can't see her, I assume that's Diane's voice. "It's time to decorate cookies. If you're interested, come to the kitchen."

The kids rush out the room with the parents left behind to clean up their mess.

"Need some help?" I ask Belinda.

"If you have any secrets to cleaning up glitter, that would be great."

I notice silver and red glitter all over the table. "I _do_ have a trick. Be right back." I leave the room, find what I'm looking for, and then head back to the great room.

"Bread?" she asks.

I nod. "The texture and moisture should sop up all the glitter. Let's give it a shot."

Sure enough, the glitter comes up without a problem.

"You must have children."

"I don't." I toss the bread into the trash can. "Just resourceful."

We go into the kitchen to help decorate cookies, and I watch Clara pass out aprons while Diane puts the cookies on plates.

I find a spot to decorate a cookie or two, and after she's finished her task, Clara sidles up next to me.

"Hi." She smiles.

"Hi. Will you show me how to do this?"

She nods. "The key is to trace the outside of the cookie first, and then work your way in."

I pick up a tube of white icing. "You sound like an expert."

"I'm not as good as my mom," Clara replies. "But she doesn't like decorating cookies."

"I can't imagine not enjoying this."

She smiles up at me. "I know."

I spend the next hour decorating cookies, but my work doesn't compare to the other people's cookies. In fact, the children are far better than the adults at this activity.

I yawn. "I think I'm going to turn in for the night."

"Did you have a good day?" Diane asks.

"I did." I almost ask her about the town Scrooge, but I decide to keep my mouth shut. "I have an early meeting tomorrow morning, so I probably won't have a chance to try one of your pastries before heading out."

"Are you leaving before seven?"

"No—around 7:30."

"Then you'll have a pastry before you leave." She grins. "And of course, a cup of coffee or hot chocolate—your choice."

I touch her arm. "Thank you."

I return to my room with my full glass of wine, settle into bed, and finish it while reading a few chapters of my book. I have a big day ahead of me, so time to get some sleep.

* * *

Author's note: Bethlehem, NH is a real city.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I was remiss in not thanking my awesome beta, IrishViking20! She helps make my stories come alive. Thanks for the wonderful reviews!

* * *

The next morning, I get out of bed and remember I'm in a Christmas wonderland. Today my work begins, but it doesn't diminish the feeling of joy I have within me. I've always enjoyed writing, and this assignment is a gift.

As much as I'd love to wear jeans and a sweatshirt, I have two formal meetings today and opt for a dressier outfit. Today it's black slacks and an ivory Cashmere sweater with my pointy leather boots—snow be damned.

I slip into the kitchen before departing and find Diane scooping pastries off a baking sheet.

"Perfect timing," she greets me. "Get one while it's hot."

I smell the sweet air. "Are those chocolate filled croissants?"

"This batch is. The ones I'm about to take out are filled with almond paste."

"I love chocolate." I reach for the warm pastry. "Thank you."

"You bet."

I fill my Thermos with coffee and add a touch of cream. "I'll see you a little later."

"Have a good day, hon."

I take a bite of the hot croissant and chocolate oozes into my mouth. This might be the best pastry I've ever eaten, and I spent a week in Paris. I notice my windshield needs to be scraped, so I set the croissant on the hood, start the car, and search for an ice scraper.

"Let me get that for you, ma'am."

A handsome man in his early-20s approaches me. "I'm John. I help Diane with the property."

"Nice to meet you, John. I'm Piper."

"Pleasure." He scrapes the ice off the windshield like he's done it a thousand times. "Where are you headed this early in the morning?"

"Mount Hale Garland Factory," I reply, grabbing my croissant.

He points over his head. "It's about two miles up that hill."

"I put the address in my GPS."

"Sometimes digital phones don't work up there." He scrapes the back window. "Just drive North on Main Street, take a right on Sixth, and go up the hill until you see the sign for the factory. Can't miss it once you're up there."

"Thank you."

He nods. "You're welcome. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

I hop into my car, turn the heat all the way up, and follow his instructions to Mount Hale Garland Factory. Although it's not a long drive, it's a bit treacherous going up the steep, icy hill, and I wish I would've rented a vehicle with four-wheel drive. The further up I go, the thicker the tall pines and Douglas firs become. I'm sure the view from up here would be spectacular if it wasn't so foggy. I pull into the parking lot in front of a sign that says, "U-Cut Trees" and stare at the rows and rows of Christmas trees.

The air smells of crisp pine and mulch, and I take in such a deep breath that it hurts my lungs. I pop the last of the croissant into my mouth as I get out of the car. _Shit_. A drop of chocolate squirts out the back, landing right on my sweater before I have a chance to zip my coat. I dab at the stain with a napkin, but it's only making it worse. Zipping my coat will hide the stain for now, and once inside, I can try to blot it out in the bathroom.

I grab my bag from the back seat and head into the building with green aluminum siding. A burst of heat rushes out the door and while it feels good right away, it's entirely too hot to wear a coat.

"Hi there, can I help you?" An elderly woman greets me from behind a desk.

"Hi, I'm Piper Chapman from the Associated Press. I have a meeting with Mr. Edrington at eight."

"Mr. Edrington is vacationing in Costa Rica this week," she replies. "I'm afraid he won't be back until after Christmas."

I frown. "There must be some kind of mistake. I arranged the meeting two weeks ago."

"Let me see here…" she turns the page in a book on her desk. "Ah, yes. Ms. Chapman. I have you scheduled for a meeting with our operations manager."

"I guess that's ok," I say. "Would you mind if I used the bathroom before you call him?"

"Sure." She points down the hallway. "Second door on your left."

I could've gone down the rabbit hole of who at the factory scheduled my meeting at Mount Hale Garland, but I wouldn't want to embarrass the receptionist if she forgot. My guess is she's either in her late 70s or early 80s. Maybe she's been working at the factory for 50+ years and could share some stories that would be a nice addition to my article. I'll have to check that out after my official meeting with the operations manager.

I walk to the bathroom and wet a paper towel, dabbing my sweater. All this is doing is smudging the chocolate deeper into the fabric. There's no way I can leave my coat on in the 80-degree room out there, so I use soap and warm water to try to make progress on the stain. When I'm convinced it's as good as it'll get, I return to the reception area.

I tug at my sweater and stare at the stain while walking down the corridor. "You wouldn't happen to have a Tide stick or something?"

"Chocolate for breakfast?" comes a voice that is definitely not the receptionist's.

My head darts up. "_You_?"

"_You_?" she repeats, jutting her chin back. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm writing a story for the Associated Press." I release my sweater and take a step forward. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm the operations manager," she replies. "Alex Vause."

I reach out to shake her hand, feeling how soft yet strong it is. "If I would've known…"

"What?" She juts one leg out. "You would've canceled?"

I angle my chin up. "I'd heard the owner of this place was a Scrooge, but it's not the owner is it? It's the manager."

"Mr. Edrington is definitely not a Scrooge," she counters. "And I take offense at you calling _me_ one."

"You're the one who complained about the Christmas season and holiday tourists at the pub last night." I raise my eyebrows. "So, not only did I _read_ about how much you dislike the holidays, I heard it with my own ears."

"I don't like Christmas." She shrugs. "And I don't particularly care for tourists."

I give her a look, indicating I'm proud to have figured her out.

"Would you ladies please take this conversation elsewhere?" the receptionist asks. "I wouldn't want anyone who walks in to see two adults bickering about the holidays."

"Fine." Alex steps aside and opens an arm.

I follow her down a different hallway. "She's right. We shouldn't be bickering."

"But you're so good at it." She turns a corner. "Are you an attorney?"

"No." I shake my head. "As I mentioned, I'm a writer."

"You could be a lawyer _and_ a writer." She opens an office door, allowing me to enter before her.

"Well, I'm not."

There's nothing extravagant about her office—there's an industrial looking desk, three tall, metal filing cabinets and two chairs for guests that look like they've been plucked from the 1970s. The only artwork is an old logo of Mount Hale Garland Factory that appears to be from the early 1900s. There are two picture frames on the desk, but I can't see what photos are in them. Alex mentioned having a family last night when she was ordering takeout from the pub, so perhaps the pictures are of her husband and children. Or maybe a _wife_ and children.

She gestures to one of the plastic-backed chairs. "Have a seat..."

I can tell she's searching for a name, so I indulge her. "Piper. Piper Chapman."

At least it smells good in here—like pine and powder. It's exactly how Alex smelled when she sat next to me at The Mischief.

I sit down and pull out my notebook, and Alex sits behind the desk, opening one of the drawers.

"Here." She tosses a faded long-sleeved shirt to me.

I sniff it. "A gift, albeit _used_, for writing an article and including you in it?"

"No." She lets a light chuckle and _almost_ smiles. "If you'd rather not walk around with what looks like a shit stain on your sweater, you can borrow my shirt."

My brows raise. "A shit stain?"

"There are large birds in New Hampshire." She shrugs. "It could happen."

I lean forward. "You know very well it's chocolate."

"Whatever it is, you might be more comfortable if you change."

I hold the shirt up and notice the same old-fashioned logo that's on the wall. "Do you sell these in the gift shop?"

"What gift shop?"

"Don't you have a gift shop?"

"Not really." She taps a pencil eraser on her desk. "We have wreath and garland making classes and an entire Christmas tree farm, but we don't sell t-shirts."

"Too bad." I stare at the shirt again. "This is nice…unique."

"It's from our 100th anniversary," Alex responds. "And I expect to get it back before you leave."

"Do you think I'd steal it?" I get to my feet.

"I don't know, Piper, would you?"

It's almost like she's trying out my name out loud.

I give her a look, and then decide it's best to change the subject. "Where can I change?"

"Here."

My eyes bolt open.

She recants. "If you'd like some privacy, there's a bathroom a couple doors down on your right."

"I don't need privacy." _Am I really going to be this obstinate? _

I remove my coat, turn around and hoist the sweater over my head. I have on a cotton camisole under my sweater, so my back isn't fully exposed. As I slip into Alex's shirt, an odd sensation rushes over me that I don't care to examine. I untuck my hair from the collar and look to my left to see a gay pride placard perched on a small table. I stand completely still, blinking a few times at the fact that Alex could indeed be gay. So what if I changed in front of her? It's not like she asked me to strip. I'm the one who chose not to go to the bathroom to put the shirt on.

I spin around, and Alex's eyes quickly shift to something on her desk.

"Looks like it fits," she breaks the ice.

I toss my sweater onto the other guest chair. "It's a little big."

One eyebrow cocks up. "Are you saying I'm bigger than you?"

"You are." I shrug. "Taller, bigger bones, maybe more muscular…"

"It's probably time we get to your article," she says. "What questions do you have?"

"I read about the history of this place." I pick up my notebook. "I'm more interested in how the factory has contributed to Bethlehem feeling like a Christmas village."

"Then you know we were founded in 1912. Back then we made simple wreathes and boughs of holly and sold them to vendors who came to town from cities like Manchester, Albany and Burlington. Mount Hale Garland employed about 20 people until World War I began a couple years later. You would think that employment would've gone down, but it actually increased as women needed jobs while their husbands were off at war. The management team allowed them to work while their kids were in school and always paid them a fair wage."

I scribble down every word.

"The Edrington's had a large family, and as the years progressed, some of them became influential businessmen who made connections with wealthy people in Boston and New York. They positioned Mount Hale as the country's only fresh florist during the holidays and promised to ship to places near and far," she continues. "You would think back then when there was so much land and trees people would've made their own Christmas wreaths and stuff, but the Edrington's marketed their products to businesses rather than homes. By the 1930s, they were selling to companies as far East as Chicago and as far South as Charleston."

Alex continues telling me the story of how Mount Hale began and there's a sparkle in her eye. It's the first sign of _joy_ I've witnessed.

"Because our company was so profitable, more people moved to Bethlehem and capitalized on the holiday theme. By the mid-70s, Main Street had six or seven stores that went all-out at Christmas time, which began attracting visitors. The number of stores doubled the next decade and the factory began hosting wreath making classes and operating a Christmas tree farm."

"Then it's true that this factory had a lot to do with the Christmas spirit in Bethlehem?"

"It had _everything_ to do with it."

"But you don't like the holidays?" I question.

"My not liking Christmas has nothing to do with working here." She leans forward. "It's personal."

"Oh." I swallow dryness in my throat. "How long have you worked here?"

"Pretty much my whole life." She seems more at ease than a moment ago. "My family has a business that I was never quite cut out for, and this was convenient and easy money."

"Did you start out on the production side of things?"

"Yeah." She stands. "I'll take you on a tour."

I follow her out of the office with my notebook in hand.

"I started as a garland maker in this room." She pushes double swinging doors. "At that time, we didn't have these twisting machines. Every bit of the operation was done by hand."

I watch two workers feed the garland through a small apparatus using their foot to make it spin.

"Everything is still done by hand as you can see, but there are a few critical machines that helps the job move a little faster." She walks ahead. "We produce about 50, 10-foot strands of garland an hour, and then it moves to this station where some are adorned with holly, silver bells or ribbons."

"Are those custom made?"

She nods. "About half of our production is custom designed for business owners or individuals. The rest of it is generic and goes to places like Home Depot and Ace Hardware for them to markup and sell."

I watch a worker tie a gold bow on both ends of the garland. "How many people do you currently employ?"

"Just under 70 all year long and another 30 from October to December." She passes through another set of doors. "We also have the tree farm where we hire mostly high school students."

"Why?"

"Gives them a good way to make money and stay out of trouble."

"Did _you_ work here as a teen to stay out of trouble?"

She smirks. "I worked here, but it didn't keep me from trouble."

I'm curious to learn more, but Alex is all business.

"As you can see, this is where we make the wreaths. Wanna try?"

"Sure." I set my notebook on a table.

"Kenny, mind if we jump in?"

"Go for it." He removes his work gloves.

"You should put these on." Alex hands me a pair of thick gloves. "It'll prevent you from getting pricked by pine needles and avoid getting sap on your fingers."

I put them on.

"Just take a piece of cedar and maybe one of Scotch pine and go like this." She makes a twisting motion. "And then feed it into the machine. Once you get it started, spin the wheel with one hand while the other keeps the greenery in line."

I give it a shot, messing up horribly the first time. "Sorry."

"It's harder than it looks. Like this." She stands behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist, and I'm assaulted by the scent of her. She smells like pine just as the rest of the place does, but there's something else—something softer.

"Take each branch and braid it if that's easier," she says, breath tickling my ear.

I try her technique. "Like this?"

"Exactly." She lifts the twisted greenery to the machine. "Now, place the tip in the slot and use that hand to spin it." She covers my other hand with hers as she begins spinning the wheel. "There you go."

I spin the wheel and turn to look at her, and my God, she's _smiling_. How in the world does this woman not smile all the time? It's gorgeous—glowing even. Her whole face comes alive and I want to make her smile all day.

"It's definitely harder than it looks," I comment.

Alex pulls the wreath off the spindle. "We'll take it to this station and secure it with wire." She quickly ties the first two pieces. "Try it."

I tie the last two, but it takes me double the time.

She brings the wreath to one more station. "Just like with the garland, you can personalize it here."

"You want me to pick some things out?"

She nods.

I admire the two wreaths that workers are finishing and try my hand at creating one of my own. I place a pinecone on each side and a silver ribbon with gold trim on the top. "Mine isn't nearly as pretty as those."

"It takes practice."

I grab my abandoned notebook and scribble a few more notes before we head outside.

I didn't realize how loud it was inside, but I realize very quickly how warm it was. "It's freezing out here."

"We won't stay long." Alex leads me down a path and points in the distance. "We own all this land, which is where we get 100 percent of our foliage for the garland and wreaths."

"Wow."

"For every tree we cut, we plant two more of the same varietal in its place."

"So, sustainability is important?"

"It is."

"I'd love to see how you harvest the branches."

"Maybe tomorrow." She glances at the sky. "It looks like it might snow, and you don't want to get stuck out there when that happens."

We walk back to the building.

"Your team doesn't work outside when it snows?"

"If they didn't work in the snow, we'd be fucked," she laughs. "They go through a lot of training and have on the proper gear," she says, holding the door open for me. "You have neither."

"If I get the right gear, will you take me?"

She smirks. "You didn't mention the right training."

"I wouldn't actually be _working_," I try. "Just observing the way your staff does their jobs."

"We'll see what the weather looks like tomorrow." She takes me back through both rooms and we proceed through a pair of yellow doors. "This is the packaging room. As you can see, it's where our products get wrapped and ready for shipment."

"Not as fun as the other parts."

"No, but essential to our work." She leads me down the same hallway I used to go to the bathroom, and we pass the receptionist.

"You two behaving like adults?"

"I always behave like an adult, Mrs. Blanchard," Alex replies.

"That was not my experience an hour ago." The receptionist side-eyes her, and then smiles at me. "Have a candy cane."

I take it from her. "Thank you very much."

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

We walk back to Alex's office.

"I hope I answered all your questions." She closes the door behind her.

"All but one," I reply.

She gives me a look.

"Why are you not a fan of the holidays?"

"I told you, it's personal," she offers with a borderline scowl.

"Right." I shove my notebook into my bag, and then shrug into my coat. "Thank you for letting me borrow your shirt. When can I give it back to you?"

"How long are you in town?"

"I leave on Christmas day."

"I'm sure we'll bump into each other sooner or later."

I chuckle. "You expect me to carry your shirt with me at all times, hoping I'll run into you to return it?"

"When you put it that way…" she grins. "Meet me for a drink later?"

I did _not_ expect such an invitation, but my stomach does a little somersault. "I can probably do that. What time?"

"Is nine o'clock too late?"

"No, that works."

She walks me down the hallway. "Have you been to Field & Vine yet?"

I tug on my hat. "I just got here last night, so no."

"They have a decent late-night happy hour that starts at nine."

I grin. "_Nine_ is considered 'late night'?"

She nods. "Everything in Bethlehem closes early, so yeah."

"Alright. See you then."

Alex waves as I make my way past the receptionist.

"Thanks for arranging the meeting with Alex," I offer.

"I take it things got better behind closed doors?"

"They did."

With a gleam in her eyes, she says something under her breath, but I don't quite catch it.

"Merry Christmas," I say as I exit the building.

She returns the sentiment.

* * *

My next stop is an interview with the mayor of Bethlehem, which lasts an hour and a half, and then I'm hungry for lunch. I pop into Red's General Store and look for today's lunch special: French onion soup with a side salad. Yes, please.

While I eat lunch, I scan the local newspaper and circle some of the events I want to go to including ice skating, the children's Christmas recital, and a carriage ride through one of the neighborhoods that boasts more than a million outdoor lights. If time permits, I want to build a gingerbread house, attend the ice sculpting competition and listen to the Bethlehem adult choir perform in the church.

After lunch, I duck into the local coffee shop to begin typing notes from my meetings today. Just like the pub, this place is stylishly decorated with Christmas décor but it's not over the top. Jazz Christmas music is playing lightly through the speakers. I order a cup of green tea and sit in the picture window to start working. There are only three other people in the coffee shop at this hour, making it serene enough for me to be productive.

As I type my notes from my meeting with Alex, I get sidetracked thinking about the juxtaposition of her personality in the pub versus at her job. Although she began our encounter at the garland factory with a chip on her shoulder, the more she talked about the history of the factory and what they do today, the more at ease she seemed. When she smiled after I got the hang of making a wreath it was like watching the sunrise.

I sigh as I look out the window at the happy people passing by and wonder why she isn't one of them. I've been known to pry in other people's lives, but I'll do my best to leave well enough alone when we meet for a drink later tonight. I get a little giddy thinking about spending time with her especially since she seems to have warmed up to me.

It's then when I realize I left my Cashmere sweater in her office. I consider calling and asking her to bring it with her tonight, but then I think about using it as an excuse to possibly see her tomorrow or the next day. I shake my head. _Why do I want to spend time with the town Scrooge?_ It couldn't have anything to do with how beautiful she is or that she might be gay.

I take a sip of tea and try to focus on the task at hand. An hour later, I've typed my notes and can head back to the inn for a little more Christmas cheer.


	3. Chapter 3

The inn is eerily quiet when I arrive in the late afternoon, but I hear a man's voice echoing from the family room. I peek inside to see John, the man I met early this morning, reading '_Twas the Night Before Christmas _to nine or ten children. A few parents are in the room with toddlers on their laps, and the one common feature among all of them is a smile on their faces. Of course, this causes _me_ to smile.

I pull up a chair in the back of the room and listen. John's a good storyteller—he reads slowly and with great emotion, capturing the youngest listener's attention as well as the oldest. After about 10 minutes, I return to my room and type a few notes about what I just experienced.

I take off Alex's shirt, wondering if I should wash it in the sink or return the dirty shirt. Well, it's not _really_ dirty—it's not like I spilled anything on it or sweat too much. It's just…worn. I bring the fabric to my nose and sniff it with my eyes closed. It still smells like her—all pine and powder with a hint of spice.

It's not quite 4 o'clock but I'm tired, so I decide to play soft Christmas music and take a nap. I curl up in the cozy bed with the sheets, blanket and comforter wrapped around me and doze off in no time.

A knock on my door wakes me, and for a moment, I forget where I am. I glance at the clock on the bedside table and realize I've been asleep for almost an hour.

"Who is it?" I call in a sleep-induced voice.

"It's Clara."

I run a hand through my hair. "What's going on, sweetie?"

"I was wondering if you'd practice the piano with me," she calls through the door.

I blink a few times and climb out of bed. "Hi."

She looks puzzled. "Were you sleeping?"

"I was taking a nap." I notice I'm holding Alex's shirt. I must've slept with it tucked beneath my arm. I toss it onto the bed.

"Oh, sorry if I woke you up. It's just…"

"It's just what?"

"It's a weird time to take a nap," she replies bashfully.

I laugh. "I guess I was really tired."

"You can go back to sleep if you want." She turns to walk away.

"That's ok." I place a hand on her shoulder. "I shouldn't sleep any longer or I'll never fall asleep tonight."

"A bath usually helps me fall asleep at night."

"Me, too." I smile at her. "Give me a few minutes to put myself back together, and I'll meet you in the piano room."

"Ok." She takes off down the hallway.

I run a brush through my hair, change into a sweater and check my phone for any missed calls or texts. As I make my way to the piano room, Diane stops me.

"My granddaughter just told me you agreed to help her practice piano."

"I did, but if you wanted to help her I could—"

"It's not that," she interrupts with her hands on her hips. "Did she come get you from your room?"

I nod.

"She knows better than that." Diane turns to walk away. "Clara?"

"It's fine." I reach out to stop her. "I was taking a nap and forgot to set an alarm. If Clara hadn't woken me, I would've slept far too long. Really, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

I nod again. "Yes."

"If it happens again, let me know."

"I will." I smile and join Clara on the piano bench. "Have you been practicing?"

"Yep. Listen." She hits a few keys and successfully plays the first verse without messing up.

"You did it!"

She giggles. "Your trick helped me."

"I'm glad."

"Now I need to work on the next verse."

"Ok, read these notes to me."

She does as she's told.

"Good, now play each note slowly while saying it aloud."

We go on like this for another 20 minutes and by the end of it, she plays the second verse with only a few hiccups.

"The recital is tomorrow," she sighs.

"You'll be ready by then." I stand. "Practice another 30 minutes tonight if you can, and then I'll help you in the morning."

"Promise?"

I hold out my pinky, linking it with hers. "Promise."

I walk into the lobby, grabbing my coat off the rack. "Remind me what's on the agenda at the inn tonight."

Diane looks up from whatever she was reading behind the desk. "We're watching a Christmas movie in the family room."

"Which one?" I put on my hat.

"We'll start with _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ so that the little ones can watch it and then go to sleep, then it'll either be _The Grinch_ or _The Muppets' Christmas Carol_."

"I'd vote for The Muppets," I reply.

"Same."

"See you later, Diane."

"Thanks for helping Clara with the piano," she calls as I exit the inn.

This evening, I walk down Main Street with more of a purpose as a writer rather than a mere tourist. I need to capture the essence of this town, which means I can't have blinders on when it comes to writing the facts versus pure emotion.

I travel halfway down the street, taking mental notes along the way, but then decide it would serve me well to jot down some notes. I gaze into the coffee shop to see that the seat I occupied after lunch is available, so I can sit and write what I observe. People are out and about more than last night, and I wonder if that has something to do with it being a Friday versus a Thursday.

I watch three boys pack snowballs and try nailing each other while a woman, presumably their mother, yells at them to stop before they break a window. Then, I see a man pushing a stroller with what appears to be infant twins inside covered with red and green blankets. That's followed by a man and a woman holding hands and swinging their arms as they enter Betty's Burgers across the street. Finally, a horse-drawn carriage passes with six passengers in a sleigh with Santa Claus at the reins.

I jot all this down in my notebook before deciding to head back to the pub for dinner. I should probably try some place new, but I liked the bartender and the general vibe of the place. It has _nothing_ to do with knowing Alex is a regular at The Mischief and was there around this time yesterday.

Although the crowd is a little more diverse this time, it's equally boisterous. I take a seat at the same stool where I sat last night.

"Hello, young lady." Liam smiles. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." I unzip my coat and hang it on the back of the stool. "The food was so good last night I thought I'd come back."

"If you're looking for recommendations, our seafood chowder has won awards," he says in his thick Irish accent.

"Is that right?"

He nods. "We even beat some of the fancy restaurants in Boston if you could believe that."

"Then seafood chowder it is." I slide the menu towards him. "And a pint of Guinness."

"Coming right up, dear."

As I sip my beer and take in the surroundings, I jot a few more notes down about the pub and its bartender. I decide to get to know him and the bar a little better, so I ask five or six questions about the pub, indicating that I'm writing an article about Bethlehem. He's eager to oblige, though he has to step away every few minutes to refill a pint glass or grab food from the kitchen. Turns out, he owns the pub and worked under the previous owner as soon as it was legal for him to schlep drinks. He's a jovial fellow who seems to have never met a stranger.

My food arrives and I dig in, savoring the thick broth and chunky lobster in the chowder. "I can see how this has won awards."

"I'm glad you like it."

I finish the chowder and opt for a glass of water rather than another pint of beer, but I've had just enough Guinness to ask a more personal question. "The woman who sat next to me last night…"

"Alex?"

I nod. "Has she been in today?"

"No." He shakes his head. "She pops in two or three times a week, has a schooner of Guinness, and orders food to go."

"She's not too fond of the holidays," I lead, hoping he'll take the bait.

He wipes the bar top. "Hasn't been for a few years."

"How many children does she have?"

"I'm afraid I can't divulge anything about her personal life, dear," he replies almost apologetically. "Alex is a very private person."

I wave. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's not a bother. Can I get you another pint?"

"No, thank you." I pay the bill and leave a generous tip. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow night."

His lips tug up. "I sure hope so."

I exit the pub and head to the town square to discover what performance is happening tonight. There's a crowd of at least 50 people watching a live Nativity scene. The actors appear to be children around Clara's age. They're mic'd up, so anyone within 20 yards of the stage can hear as an angel appears before Mary. I wrap my scarf tightly around my neck and find an empty chair to take in the show, and the moment I sit down, my ass just about freezes on the metal surface. Nevertheless, I watch the play until it ends around 8:30.

As I'm about to walk away, someone touches my arm.

"Ms. Chapman?"

I recognize the receptionist from Mount Hale Garland Factory. "Yes, hi."

"I don't know if you caught my name." She holds out a gloved hand. "Henrietta Blanchard from Mount Hale."

"Yes, of course." I shake her hand vigorously. "Good to see you again. Do you know anyone in the play?"

"My twin granddaughters," she proudly states. "One was the angel and the other a shepherd."

"They were both spectacular."

"Weren't they?" She links her arm into the crook of my elbow. "Would you mind escorting me under the awning over there? I'm meeting my family for some hot apple cider and the ground is a little uneven."

I walk with her slowly and carefully to the covered area where there are carafes of hot apple cider and donuts.

"You know, Alex isn't a bad person," she comments out of the blue.

My head snaps to look at her. "I didn't think she was."

"She's a great manager, she just isn't fond of the holidays," Mrs. Blanchard begins. "It's a shame, considering where we work."

"It is." I've pried once already tonight, so I decide not to go for two. "I loved touring the factory today."

"It's always nice to show folks around."

"Mom!" a woman calls.

"That's my daughter." She pats my hand. "Thanks again, Ms. Chapman. Hope to see you again before you leave."

"Me, too." I take that as my cue to leave.

I thread through the throngs of people to get back to Main Street and head to Field & Vine to meet the woman I was just talking about. I'm a little early, so I take my time, once again admiring the storefronts and the happy patrons.

I climb the three steps to the restaurant's entrance and open the leaded glass door. The space is sleek and modern, yet it still has a bit of cozy charm. The bar is lined with violet colored, crushed-velvet stools and there are three, small wooden "swings" for lack of a better word, hanging from the ceiling by silver chains with liquor bottles perched in each one. The dinner tables are all blonde wood with the same colored chairs as the barstools. About half of them are occupied, and four people are sitting at the bar, leaving two stools unclaimed.

"Welcome to Field & Vine. Are you here for dinner or drinks?" The hostess greets me.

I spot Alex at the far end of the bar and my pulse quickens. "Drinks, thank you."

"The bar is right over there. Enjoy." The hostess might've smiled, but my eyes aren't focused on her.

Alex issues a small smile as I approach her.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey." She gestures to the stool next to her. "You look a little flushed."

"Do I?" I take off my gloves and touch my cheeks. "I've been out in the cold watching the live Nativity scene."

"A cocktail will warm you up." She slides the one-page menu towards me, and it's the first time I've noticed her manicured nails. They're trimmed short and painted dark gray.

"What's good here?"

"Everything," she replies. "It's the only place in town to get a craft cocktail. Liam makes a damn good hot toddy and is generous with his pours of Jameson, but he doesn't use the unique ingredients for drinks that Val does."

I look up. "I assume Val is the bartender."

"She is." Alex raises a hand to call her attention. "We've known each other for a few years."

"Hey, Alex," the bartender says, but her eyes are on me. "I see you've brought a guest. I'm Val." She reaches out to shake my hand.

"Piper. Nice to meet you."

She has short, cropped hair and tattoos on both arms. Although I know it's bad to stereotype, if Val isn't a lesbian, I would be shocked.

"What can I get you?"

Alex turns to me.

"This drink, _Love Letters_, looks good. Can you tell me a little more about it?"

"Yeah, it's got a Buffalo Trace Bourbon base." Val pulls out a shaker. "Two types of bitters, homemade orange liqueur and is topped with Prosecco and a lemon twist."

"Sounds good." I pass the menu to Alex.

"I'll have the usual," she says without glancing at it.

Val moves down the bar to make the drinks.

Suddenly it dawns on me. I open my purse, and then pat my coat. "Shit. I forgot your shirt!"

"Wasn't that the whole point of meeting up tonight?" she chuckles.

If I weren't so embarrassed by my lapse in memory, I'd stop to appreciate the way light laughter escapes her mouth. I quickly recover and decide to try my hand at flirting, something I haven't done in years.

"Was it?"

She lifts an eyebrow and stares at me for a moment. "It's fine. I didn't bring the sweater you left in my office." She holds up a hand. "It's not that I _forgot_ it—I scrubbed the stain with detergent and it's soaking in my sink at home."

"You didn't have to go through any trouble."

"It's a nice sweater." She shrugs. "I wouldn't want you to have ruined it."

"Well, I appreciate it."

Val returns with our drinks. "Are you two ordering any food?"

Alex turns to me. "Are you hungry?"

"No, I had the seafood chowder at the pub and more than my share of soda bread," I answer.

"We're good. Thanks." She lifts her cocktail. "Cheers."

I tap my glass against hers and want to say something like, _to a happy holiday_, but I refrain. I go with a simple, "Cheers" instead.

"Wow, this is good."

"I'm glad." She sips her cocktail

"What are you drinking?" I ask.

"It's called the Casanova—bourbon, sherry, homemade all-spice simple syrup and a little lemon juice." She slides the rocks glass towards me. "Try it."

I lift the glass to my mouth and watch _her_ watching me. "Mmm, that's delicious. Want to try mine?"

"I've had it before, thanks." She takes her drink. "So, what did you do after you left the factory?"

I flick my head, tossing my longer than normal hair over my shoulder before telling her about my day. "I interviewed the mayor after I left your office. He gave me some good information about how involved store owners get in the festivities."

"We went to high school together," Alex replies. "I think he graduated two years ahead of me."

"He seems nice," I say. "I wanted to talk to the person in charge of holiday scheduling, but she was busy, so we'll chat tomorrow."

I fill Alex in on the rest of my day and she asks questions along the way. There's no hint of the Scrooge she was when we first met. At this point, I wonder if she's just bitter about the holidays and is otherwise a well-respected, kind-hearted woman.

Val approaches us when our glasses are empty. "Would you like another round?"

Alex looks to me.

"Yeah, sure." It's highly unusual for me to have more than one cocktail per night, but I want to continue talking to Alex and figure the best way to do that is to stay here. "It seems appropriate to try the _Winter's Eve_."

"Good choice," Val says. "Alex?"

"Knob Creek on the rocks." She turns back to me. "You were saying?"

I pick up where I left off about taking a nap, but I leave off the part about being woken up by Clara and helping her practice _Silent Night_ on the piano. That doesn't seem like a detail worth sharing at this point, so I go on to tell her about my dinner at the pub followed by the viewing of the live Nativity scene.

"I ran into your receptionist at the play."

"Mrs. Blanchard?"

I nod. "I helped her find her family where the refreshments were being served."

She takes a sip. "That was nice of you."

"The ground was a little unsteady, and I didn't want her to fall." I raise my shoulders. "How long has she worked at Mount Hale Garland?"

"We celebrated her 50th year last October."

"Wow," I comment. "She must be living right to have worked so long."

Alex nods. "And she has no plans to retire anytime soon."

We talk more about Mrs. Blanchard and some of the other long-time employees at the factory, but Alex doesn't reveal much about herself. I'm stuck between asking her more and allowing her to take the lead on what she wants to divulge about her personal life. From what I gather (and from what Liam told me) she's an incredibly private person.

I finish my cocktail and feel a little buzzed but not completely drunk. "I have to use the bathroom."

I get to my feet a little wonky, and Alex steadies me with a hand on my elbow. "Careful." Even her tiny smile gives me goosebumps.

"Thanks." I make my way to the bathroom and consider where I want our conversation to go. I really want to ask about her family, but I know that would be risky and could end the evening very quickly. Then I consider asking her how well she knows Val—that could give me some insight about her sexual preference. My gut tells me that Alex is gay by the way she talks, the way she walks and generally carries herself, but I don't want to make assumptions.

I return to the bar with an idea.

"Everything ok?" she asks after I sit down.

"Yes." I put my hand on her arm. "I have a favor to ask."

"A favor?" Her eyebrows shoot up.

I nod. "I know you don't like the holidays, so let me preface this by saying I'm not asking you to change your mind about that."

"Ok…" she trails.

"Take me somewhere only locals know about," I say. "Somewhere off the beaten path."

"So you can write about it in your article?"

I shake my head. "I won't mention it in my article."

She scrunches her lips to the side in contemplation.

"I want to see something unique—something the general public wouldn't know," I continue.

"Ok."

I smile. "Ok?"

"Yeah." She takes out her phone. "Let me just text Carol to let her know I'll be on her property but not to call the police."

"Sounds risky."

"It's not," she borderline snorts. "It's just better to give her a head's up."

Alex tosses cash onto the bar, and then helps me into my coat. Once again, she smells like pine and powder.

"Do you wear perfume?" I ask as we walk outside.

She glances at me. "No, why?"

"You always smell so good."

She grins. "Do I?"

I nod. "I get why you'd smell like pine since you work in the factory all day, but there's something else—something powdery."

"It must be my skin cream." She sniffs her hands despite them being gloved. "My skin gets super dry in the winter, so I'm constantly applying lotion."

"What kind?"

"It's this homemade stuff that they sell at the spa on Main Street," she begins. "I think it's made with like three kinds of butters. Maybe something spiced is in it, too." She removes one glove and holds her hand to my nose.

I take a big whiff. "That's it."

"Mystery solved."

"I love it."

We continue walking three more blocks.

"How far are we going?"

She looks my way. "Are you tired?"

"No, I just like to know those sort of things."

There's that smile again. "We're almost there."

Five minutes later, we arrive at a massive greenhouse with bright lights inside. I can see it before we actually get to it.

"What is this?" I ask.

Alex pushes the fiberglass door open. "It's a poinsettia farm."

I step inside and see rows and rows of red plants, and my mouth hangs open. "Wow."

"There are something like 10,000 plants in here," she says, leading me down one of the rows. "It's a fairly small greenhouse compared to the one in Blaine, which grows like 60,000."

I stop and admire a large one. "It's beautiful."

"That's a poinsettia tree," Alex says. "They retail for over $100." She crosses an aisle and holds up a smaller plant. "This is a mini-poinsettia. It costs like five bucks."

"They're all gorgeous."

"I don't know if you consider this a sort of _Christmas like the locals thing_." She shrugs. "But it's not open to the public."

I look up at her. "I love it."

"Good." She walks down another aisle. "The Greenbergs have owned this place as long as I can remember. The reason I texted Carol about my coming over is because I didn't do that when I was a teenager."

"What happened?"

"As you might imagine, there's not a whole lot for teens to do in Bethlehem. My friends and I were bored one night, so we came to the greenhouse and partied," she starts. "We were drinking and smoking pot and one of us lit a poinsettia on fire by mistake. Before we realized it, four or five of them were burning, so I grabbed the garden hose and put it out."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "My mom was furious, so that summer, I worked for the Greenberg's without pay to make up for my stupidity."

I smile. "Served you right."

"It did." She grins. "Needless to say, I never partied on private property again unless I was invited."

We walk around a little more as Alex tells me about a few of the other plants grown on site. I admire her knowledge and the way she speaks with such ease about the foliage.

"You could probably take one home if you want. I'll leave some cash and a note behind."

"I would only be able to admire it while I'm here," I respond. "I can't imagine carrying one on the plane."

"Ok." She leads us out the same door we entered. "Have you had your fill?"

"I have." I touch her wrist. "Thank you for showing me this."

"You're welcome." She smiles as we walk down the street.

"You have a beautiful smile," I say, unable to contain my words in a thought bubble.

Her smile grows. "So do you."

We walk in silence for a minute or two, and again, I feel unusually bold. "Did I detect a _thing_ back at the bar between you and Val?"

Her eyes dart to mine. "A _thing_?"

I hold my breath, hoping I didn't overstep.

"You're perceptive; I'll give you that," she begins with a slight huff. "Val and I dated when she first moved here. It lasted five or six months."

_Finally_, I have confirmation that she likes women. I try to contain a grin, though I don't know why this news makes me all fluttery—it's not like I'm a lesbian. I mean, I'm attracted to _some_ women…

"What happened?"

"The same stuff that happens with most failed relationships." She shrugs. "We didn't communicate well, grew apart, wanted different things in life."

"Only those small things?" I tease.

That causes her to smile again. "I realized pretty quickly that we weren't compatible."

Rather than quit while I'm ahead, I ask, "Do you still hook up with her?"

"No." She glances my way. "That's not how I operate."

I'm pleasantly surprised that she's talking about her personal life. "How _do_ you operate?"

Her face ticks, but I don't know Alex well enough to know if I've struck a chord or if she thinks I'm flirting.

"When any of my relationships have run their course, they're over," she plainly states. "There's no desperate sex or going back to someone because I'm lonely."

"I admire that."

We turn the corner onto Main Street.

"Why? Do you do things differently?" she questions.

"It's been a long time since I've been in a relationship," I admit. "But as I think back to failed ones, I remember caving in and seeing that person after we'd officially broken up."

"_Seeing_ them?"

I blush. "Having sex with them."

"Ah," she huffs as a puff of cold air comes out of her mouth like smoke. "Physical relationships can be difficult to end."

"But you've been successful," I add.

"It's never easy, but I'd like to think I have the willpower to end every aspect of a relationship when the time is right."

"That's commendable."

"So, these people you dated…" she trails off.

I know what she's getting at—at least I think I do—but I don't make it easy. "Yes?"

"Were they men or women?"

"Mostly men." I bite my lower lip. "But there might've been a woman in the bunch."

"The bunch?" she chuckles.

I can tell that knowing I've been with a woman has put her at ease or at the very least, is welcome news.

I keep the moment light. "I've broken my fair share of hearts."

"I bet you have," her voice sounds far more seductive than I anticipated.

Alex stops at the corner. "I have to pick up my car."

"Where is it?"

She points down the street. "I had new brakes installed yesterday; it's at the shop."

I glance at my watch. "Is the shop still open at this hour?"

"No," she responds. "Gary left the keys on the back tire."

"I love small town living," I sigh with pleasure.

"What do you mean?"

I lift my shoulders. "The fact that you know everyone by their first name; that you can leave car keys on a back tire without fear that it'll get stolen."

She laughs. "Yeah, I guess those are the perks of living in Bethlehem."

"Well, I'm staying at the inn, so I'll walk the 500 or so feet to my room."

Her eyebrows raise. "You're staying at the inn?"

My forehead creases. "Yeah, why?"

She adjusts her glasses. "For some reason I thought you were staying at the hotel."

"It was sold out when I made my reservation a couple of weeks ago," I explain. "Is there something about the inn I don't know?" My eyes widen. "Is it haunted?"

"It's not haunted," she releases a light laugh and looks away. "Nothing is wrong with the inn."

"The way you're talking about it makes me think there is."

"Look, Piper," she shakes her head in little bursts. "The inn is fine; it's great." She pauses, and I wonder if I should fill the awkward silence, but seconds later, Alex speaks again. "It's freezing out here, and I really need to get my car."

"Ok." I hope I don't look as perplexed as I feel with this abrupt ending to what was an otherwise lovely evening. "I hope to see you around."

"Yeah." She gives me a tight-lipped smile. "See you around."

With that, I watch her walk up Main Street while I cross it and head down the side street. Something isn't adding up.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you all very much for the reviews! I didn't expect so many questions about Clara and her relationship with Alex. Don't get me wrong, I can see why you all have questions, but I didn't set out with the intention of pulling the wool over your eyes for too long. I'm glad the suspense has been an unintended treat for you! One of you got it right, but answers are forthcoming in this chapter…For the reviewer who asked how Piper knew Alex has children, when they were tending to the lost cat, Alex said she needed to bring the takeout food back to her family. Piper assumed 'family' meant spouse and kids.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up a bit later than the day before and take a hot shower. As I get dressed, I think about Alex and the way the night began versus the way it ended. There was no mistaking her peculiar reaction when I mentioned staying the inn. I go through a list of scenarios where she wouldn't want me staying here:

_Maybe an ex-girlfriend's family owns the inn._

_Maybe her archrival's family owns it._

_Maybe she has stock in the fancy hotel in town and benefits financially from people staying there._

I'm probably way off the mark, but I intend to find out what her beef with the inn is before the end of the day.

I head down to the hall to enjoy one of Diane's homemade pastries. When I arrive in the kitchen, two families are sitting at tables and talking about their plans for the day. It seems the kids want to go to the elementary school's Christmas recital, but the adults want to go for a walk in the woods. I smile at their interaction.

Diane is nowhere to be found when I pour a cup of coffee and grab a blueberry scone, so I take my breakfast to the lobby in hopes of thanking her for another delicious treat. I stop in my tracks when I see who's standing at the front counter.

"Alex?"

"Piper," she sighs. "We need to talk."

I crease my brow. "What are you doing here?"

Her face looks grave, but before she can get a word out, Clara comes barreling in. "Mommy!" She hugs Alex's legs.

"Wha…I…" I'm sure I look like I've just seen a ghost. "I don't understand."

Alex bends down. "I promise I'll listen to you play the song again, but I just need 10 minutes, ok?"

Clara scratches her head. "Are you friends with Piper?"

Alex's eyes look like they're going to pop out of her head. "You know Piper?"

She nods. "She's the one who taught me the piano trick that I showed you yesterday."

"_You_?" She tries reeling in her surprise. "Keep practicing, kiddo, and I'll be back in no time." She blinks at me, shoving one of her sleeves up her arm. "Can we maybe go to your room or something?"

I'm still standing in the middle of the lobby with my mouth hanging open. When I realize she's talking to me, I turn around and deposit the coffee and pastry on a side table as I head back to my room with Alex on my heels.

Once we're behind closed doors, I ask, "Are you _married_?"

She blows that notion off with the swat of her hand. "God, no!"

"But you have a daughter…" I start putting the pieces together. "Clara is your child and Diane is her grandmother, which makes Diane your _mom_?"

She scrunches her lips to the side and looks like a kid who got caught with her hand in a candy jar. "Yes."

I toss my head from side to side. "So the reason you don't like Christmas is because your family owns the inn, which is always decorated for the holidays?"

"No," she sighs as if there's so much I don't yet know. "Those things are independent of each other."

I push back. "Then why did you get all weird last night when I mentioned I was staying here?"

"I knew you must've met my mom and more than likely, you'd met my daughter."

"Is that a problem?"

"No." She shrugs. "I just wanted to avoid an awkward situation, which we're now in."

I cross my arms. "This awkwardness could've easily been avoided if you would've told me last night about your connection to this place."

"It doesn't have to be awkward," she replies. "I have a daughter, and my family owns the inn. Period."

"Again, why is that a thing?"

"Because now you're going to have a million questions about who Clara's father is and why I don't work at the inn that's been in my family for three generations!" she lets out in one frenzied breath.

I slowly nod and glance out the window, trying to reel in my thoughts.

Alex continues, "In the short time I've known you, I've discovered you ask a lot of questions." She pauses. "Like, _a lot_."

I lift my shoulders. "I'm a curious person."

"I knew you'd have questions about Clara, and as you might've guessed, I don't like to talk about my personal life."

"That much is clear," I respond, still with my arms folded.

"I don't owe you an explanation," she tries.

"No, you don't."

"I can walk out that door without having to tell you about Clara or my mom or why I don't work at the inn."

I can see this conversation is frustrating her, but I don't give an inch. "You're right; you can."

Alex spins around, sighs and runs a hand through her dark hair. She glances at the ceiling and shakes her head but remains silent.

I move to the door and put my hand on the knob, but I don't open it. "If that's where you want to leave things, fine."

"I'm drawn to you, Piper!" she finally spits out. "I don't know if it's your relentless questioning; your doe-eyed view of the world; your love of this fucking town or this fucking _season_, or if it's that you're the most beautiful woman I've laid eyes on in _years_!"

I'm stunned by her admission.

She puts her hands on her hips. "_That's_ why it's a big fucking deal that you're staying here."

What I really want to do is grab her face and kiss her, but it's too soon for that.

"I…Well, I…"

She appears to be waiting impatiently. "You're never at a loss for words."

"I think you're beautiful, too."

"_That's_ the part you choose to focus on?" she chuckles, deep and sexy.

I try to keep the blush from spreading across my cheeks, but I know it's useless. "It's not every day that someone calls me beautiful."

She issues a soft smile. "I'm sure many people think it; they just don't say it."

I play along. "Or blurt it out like you did?"

"I stated other attributes that I thought you would've mentioned before the whole beautiful thing," she says. "I can't tell if they infuriate me or endear you to me."

"Let me break the tie." I grin.

"Good, then we agree: _infuriate_."

I attempt to playfully slap her, but she grabs my hand before it reaches her arm. Still holding it, although a bit gracelessly, Alex takes a step closer and _my God the way she smells_…

"I know you want answers, Piper." She adjusts our hands to hold mine more properly. "But I can't give them to you at this moment."

Although I want to protest, I don't.

"My daughter needs to practice _Silent Night_ before the recital in three hours. I have to give her my undivided attention."

We're so close that I can smell coffee on her breath.

I crane my neck up; our lips are inches apart. "Do you play piano?"

"I don't." She cups my cheek with her free hand.

"I do," I reply, melting into her touch.

She tilts her head. "So I've heard."

"Would you like me to help Clara with her song?"

She smiles. "I'd like that very much."

I squeeze her hand. "Ok."

Just when I think Alex is going to close the distance between us, she pulls back. "Great. I'll see you in the piano room in a few minutes."

Did I just get bamboozled into helping Clara wrap up practicing her recital song with the promise of a kiss?

I shake my head. "But we…"

She opens the door. "We what?"

"We were…" I make a spinning motion with my hand as if she _has to_ catch on.

"I really have to get back to Clara," she replies almost apologetically.

_Is she really that clueless? _

She exits my room and closes the door behind her, and I'm left standing there with my mouth hanging open for the second time this morning. I shake my head and try to escape the fog of what _almost_ transpired and how quickly the moment passed. I've been known to be clueless at times, but there's no mistaking what just happened between us.

I open the door, and Alex is standing there, elbow bent against the doorframe and hand cradling her head. Her smirk is _cocky_. In one motion, she pushes off the doorframe, takes my face in her hands and kisses me so hard that I'm forced to step back. My fingers curl around her wrists as I savor our first kiss. She tastes like coffee and peppermint and maybe a little like blueberry scones, and I can't get enough.

"Do you honestly think I'm that naïve?"

I try to control my panting despite it being a long, but not _wet_ kiss. "No, which is why I was surprised when we didn't kiss."

She brings our hands between our bodies to her chest. "I couldn't resist toying with you."

"So, I'm the naïve one?" I ask.

"I'm not saying you're naïve." She kisses my nose. "I'm just saying your facial expressions give you away before you say a word."

"Then you knew I expected you to kiss me?"

She laughs, showing her pearly whites. "Yeah, I did."

"There's a little evil lurking within you."

I make a feeble attempt to wiggle out of her grasp, but she doesn't release my hands.

She cocks an eyebrow. "Maybe."

"When can we talk?"

"The recital is at 11:30 and it'll last an hour, then I'm taking Clara to lunch, then I promised to take her ice skating on the pond out back."

"You're going to her recital?" I ask.

"Of course I am," she says as if I should've assumes that.

"I thought you avoided all things Christmas," I reply.

"I don't necessarily _avoid_ Christmas stuff; I just don't like the holiday," she offers. "There's no way in hell I'd miss my daughter's performance even if she played Santa Claus."

"Well then, it sounds like you have a jam-packed day."

"Come ice skating with us," she blurts out.

"I don't know if Clara would want that."

"Are you kidding? She talked about the lady who taught her a trick on the piano all during dinner last night."

I find it strange that Clara didn't mention my name.

"Will you at least check with her before I agree to join you?" I ask.

She pulls my hand to her mouth, lips falling on my knuckles. "Yes."

"But ice skating isn't a time when we can talk," I mention.

"I'm having dinner with Clara tonight," she begins. "After that, my mom will do a gingerbread house thing at the inn. Clara will want to participate, and then we can talk."

"Where should we go?"

"Either here in your room or at my house across the street," she replies. "You pick."

"You live across the street?"

"I do."

"Let's go there. It'll be a little more private."

"Ok." She smiles. "Meantime, please help my daughter with her song."

"Lead the way."

I follow Alex down the corridor, picking up my abandoned scone and cold cup of coffee along the way. "I'm going to grab a fresh cup."

As I fill my mug, I can't help beaming. I had no idea things with Alex would move this fast, but I'm glad they have. I'm also eager to learn how Clara came into this world, hoping it leads to a discussion about why she hates Christmas.

I return to the piano room and hang just outside as I listen to Clara play the first verse of _Silent Night_ into the chorus. She does a great job.

"That was excellent," I say as I enter the room.

"I've gotten better on the second verse," she announces. "Will you sit next to me?"

I glance at Alex, and she nods. "Ok, let's start by saying the notes as you hit the keys."

We go through this for about 15 minutes, and then she tries without saying the notes out loud.

"Perfect!" I say.

"You nailed it, kiddo," Alex says, rubbing her daughter's back. "Wanna try it from the top?"

Clara nods and plays the first and second verses, only messing up twice. "I did it!"

"You sure did," Alex says.

I give her a high-five.

"Should we take a break and eat some breakfast?" Alex asks. "Then you can come back one more time to practice before the recital."

She nods. "Can we have waffles?"

"We can have whatever you want." She holds out her daughter's coat. "Is there something you want to tell Piper?"

She scoots off the bench and hugs my legs. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." I bend down to give her a proper hug. "I'll see you at the recital."

Her face lights up. "You're coming?"

"Of course I am." I bop her on the nose. "But for now, I'm sure your grandma would love to practice with you one last time."

Diane smiles. "I'd love that."

"It's settled then. Break a leg!" I eye Alex once more before returning to my room to write a bit more before heading into town again.

"Why does she want me to break a leg?" I hear Clara ask.

* * *

I spend the next two hours in my room listening to Christmas music and writing. The article is getting there, but I still need to observe a few more community activities before putting it to bed. I'd be lying if I said that my time was spent solely focused on the article. Thoughts of Alex creep into my head, and I let them distract me for a minute or two. I replay our conversation in my mind, but I keep coming back to the kiss. I touch my lips as I recall the feeling of exhilaration when her mouth met mine.

We didn't take the kiss to the next level, and I'm grateful for that. When we finally _do_ share a significant kiss, I don't want time to be a factor. I'm sure we could have a purely physical relationship since my time here is finite, and I'm open to that, but I get the sense there's something more going on between us. I laugh at myself for thinking we have a connection when we met less than 48 hours ago, but I can't shake the feeling that it's true. Tonight's conversation will be telling.

I'm not sure what one wears to a children's Christmas recital, so I put on a pair of black, slim fitting jeans and a red sweater with a plaid scarf dangling over my shoulders. I dot some gloss on my lips and head out.

"It's Piper, right?"

"Yes." I smile at the handsome man at the front desk. "And you're John?"

"Yes, ma'am." He has perfect dimples on his boyish face.

"You don't have to call me _ma'am_."

"Alright then, Piper," he says. "You headed out for the afternoon?"

"I'm going to Clara's recital." I zip my coat. "She's made amazing strides on her piano solo, so I want to see her on stage."

He grins. "She's a great kid."

"Seems like it."

"Must run in her blood—she's my niece."

I stop putting my hat on mid-air. "Are you Alex's brother?"

He crinkles his brow. "Alex doesn't have a brother."

"Then…"

He bites his lip like he's divulged too much. "I should let her explain."

"Right."

Not only is everyone in town in on Alex's secret, but they're fiercely protective of her. From Liam to Val to John, no one dishes on Alex's personal life. What has she done to deserve such loyalty?

"I wish I could be at the recital, but someone has to stay back at the inn," John says.

"I'm sure someone will tape it."

He laughs. "You can bet on that."

I walk into the brisk late morning air and ponder what Alex has been hiding and why she's apparently the only one who can divulge the information.

I've refused to drive anywhere except to the garland factory since my car is buried in several inches of snow, so I hoof down the street until I get to the school, which serves students in grades K-12—another sign of small town living. I follow the signs to the Christmas recital, which happens to be in the gymnasium.

"You're just in time," a mom greets me. "That will be $3."

"Oh." I dig in my wallet and pull out a $5 bill. "Keep the change."

A woman on stage is making an opening statement about the work the children have put into this recital, and I assume she's the principal. I glance around the room, looking for Alex, but the hundred or so folding chairs are mostly occupied, so it's difficult to spot her through the crowd. On second thought, I shouldn't sit with Alex—that's presumptuous of me. Instead, I take a seat in the second to last row next to a woman in a mink coat and bright pink lipstick.

As the first three students come up to sing, _We Three Kings_, I scan the two-page program that looks and feels like it belongs square in an elementary school. The printer apparently started running out of ink; there are too many spaces between words; they've used at least five different fonts; and the words on the front are off-center. I smile at its simplicity and appreciate it for what it is.

After four more students perform, the emcee introduces Clara Vause. I hear what I assume is Alex's cheers for her daughter.

Clara sits at the piano and turns the page of the music book. "Today, I'll play two verses of _Silent Night_." She hits a few notes, clears her throat and then settles in.

She misses the third note, but then performs flawlessly on stage. At the end, I can't help but stand and applaud. I see Alex and Diane in the fourth row doing the same. Alex puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles. Clara, for her part, slides off the piano stool and curtsies.

I duck out between a girl slaughtering _O, Holy Night_ on the violin and two boys singing _White Christmas_ in the style of the Drifters. I contemplate going backstage to congratulate Clara on a job well done, but I think better of it—I'm not family. I'm sure I'll see her at the inn.

I walk over to Betty's Burgers for lunch and order a cheeseburger and tater tots. Turns out, the hamburgers taste as good as they smell, but the tots leave a lot to be desired. After lunch, I stroll further up Main Street, hoping to find a hidden store or something, but it turns residential after the town square. I decide to go back to the inn to write a bit more. If Alex talked to Clara and she wants me to go ice skating with them, I'll oblige, but I won't bring it up.

Thirty minutes later, I hear a knock on my door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Clara."

I grin as I open the door. "You did a spectacular job at the recital today."

"I messed up in the beginning."

"No one even noticed." I ruffle her blonde hair. "Seriously, you nailed it."

"Thanks. I'm glad it's over," she replies. "Um, I wanted to know if you can go ice skating with me and my mom?"

My heart swoons. "Really?"

She nods. "It'll be fun."

"If you say so."

"You'll come?"

"Sure." I smile. "But I'm not very good."

"There are a lot of people who can't skate very well. My mom always tells me to be patient, but sometimes she's the one who isn't," she begins with a grin. "If you're really bad, you can hold onto a metal thing that will help you keep your balance or you can hold my hand."

"Thank you very much," I respond. "When are you heading out?"

She looks down at her lacy, green dress. "I have to change clothes first, but we'll be at the pond in a few minutes."

"I'll meet you there."

"Ok," she yells as she rushes down the hallway. "Mommy, she said yes!"

I can't help but smile.

* * *

I tug on an old pair of jeans and the thickest sweater I brought, hoping this will keep me warm enough to skate on this sunny but frigid day. As I make my way to the pond, I see six or seven people skating and Alex helping Clara tie her skates.

"Piper!" Clara waves.

"Hi." I smile at her, and then my eyes drift to Alex.

She finishes tying the laces. "Ok, you're all set. Be careful."

Clara walks out to the pond to begin skating, and Alex stands, turning to me.

"You look especially cute this afternoon," she says.

My cheeks redden at her compliment. "Thank you."

She touches my hat. "You're the only adult I know who could get away with a pink hat with a fuzzy ball on top."

"I brought three hats, and I'm determined to wear each one," I say, tugging the wool over my ears. "Clara did a great job at the recital."

"Thanks for all your help." She shields the sun with her hand on her forehead as she watches her daughter skate. "I'm proud of her."

"You should be."

Alex returns her attention to me. "I didn't see you there."

"I arrived when the principal was on stage," I reply. "It was crowded, so I found a chair in the back of the gym. I'll admit that I left after the girl slaughtered that song on the violin."

Alex chuckles. "She's a far cry from Yo-Yo Ma."

"Still, those kids are braver than I was at that age."

"I find that hard to believe."

I tilt my head. "Why is that?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "You just seem so confident. I can't imagine a time in your life when you weren't."

"I could say the same about you." I want to ask her a hundred questions about her mom and growing up in Bethlehem, but I decide to save those for later. For now, I'm here to very likely make a fool of myself.

"You ready to do this?" Alex asks.

"No, but I'll give it a try."

She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "I could get you a walker if you want."

I notice a walker that an elderly person would use to help them get around. It has some sort of stoppers on the front legs. So _that's_ what Clara was referring to earlier.

"I'd rather just hold onto you."

Her lips tug up. "Be my guest."

We walk to the pond together, and I take my first step on the ice. "It's been at least ten years since I've skated."

"It's like riding a bike," Alex says, one hand on my hip, the other on my elbow.

"Mom, look!" Clara skates backwards and waves.

"You're doing great, kiddo!" She returns her attention to me. "You've got this."

I put one skate in front of the other and slowly get the hang of things after a loop around the pond.

"Do you want me to help?" Clara asks.

"I think I'm almost there," I reply. "You're really good."

"She's been skating since she could walk," Alex offers.

"I'm going to play ice hockey when I'm old enough."

"Now _that's_ impressive," I respond.

"I'm going to let you go," Alex says to me. "See if you can stand on your own."

My balance is wobbly, but I think I can do it.

"Just like that," she says. "Keep going."

I skate a few feet alone, feeling more confident. When I get to the turn I lose my balance, falling flat on my ass.

Alex skates up to me, crouching down. "Are you ok?"

"Ow, yes." I laugh. "Will you help me?"

"The turns are a little tricky," Clara announces, taking one of my hands while her mom has the other. "You'll get the hang of it if you just keep trying."

I skate for another 15 minutes, but my shins begin to hurt and I'm getting passed by toddlers. Alex tends to me every couple of minutes, but she also skates with her daughter. Both of them are excellent skaters. Maybe I would be too if I lived in a town with an iced-over pond in my backyard.

I enjoy watching her with Clara—there's an ease in the way they communicate and act with each other.

"I think I'm going to call it quits."

"Already?" Clara asks.

I skate to the side and make my way to the bench. "Maybe I'll try again tomorrow."

"I hope so," she says. "You did a really good job."

"Thanks."

Alex skates over. "I recommend soaking in a hot tub if you feel a little sore."

"That's exactly my plan." I pull off the skates and replace them with my fur-lined boots.

"Are we still on for tonight?" she whispers.

"Yes."

"Come over any time after seven." I could listen to her husky voice all day.

"Ok, see you later."


	5. Chapter 5

The hardest thing to do the weekend before Christmas in Bethlehem, New Hampshire, is deciding what activities to participate in. I soak in a hot bubble bath to relieve my aching muscles while reading two brochures I picked up at Red's General Store about the happenings around town. At four o'clock there's the ice sculpting competition's final round and award ceremony, and at the same time, sleigh rides on the hill that leads to Mount Hale Garland Factory. At 4:30 there's storefront caroling where a group of singers dressed in old-fashioned outfits will perform in front of the shops along Main Street. At five o'clock people will finish decorating the massive Christmas tree in the town square where there will be live music and refreshments. The tree lighting doesn't happen until tomorrow evening, and I won't miss that.

I decide to hit all of these activities, spending no more than 45 minutes at each one. I'll return to the inn to eat the cheese & bread I bought, and then prepare to meet Alex at her house. I'm not sure I'd call our meeting a _date_ exactly, but I'm flattered that she's open to answering my questions. If all she wanted was a physical relationship, it's unlikely she'd invite me to her house. On second thought, maybe she _would_. Then again, this morning she mentioned _talking_ at her house, so unless she's got some grand scheme to not answer my questions and instead, get me between the sheets, we will probably have a relatively normal evening.

I'm having difficulty deciding how far I should push our conversation. After all, we've known each other for two days—it's not like I have the cachet to prod her endlessly about things she'd prefer to keep to herself. Generally speaking, I struggle with knowing when to stop, so I hope Alex is comfortable enough to tell me if I've gone too far. She strikes me as a confident, intelligent woman who knows what she wants, so I believe she'd have no problem letting me know if I've struck a particular chord.

Just before 7 p.m. I make my way down the hallway and stop in the great room to see how the gingerbread house activity is going. There are about 15 people of all ages in the room, and I watch Clara help a young boy stick jellybeans on the side of his house. There are Christmas tunes playing in the background, lots of laughter, and graham crackers & icing covering almost every surface. If I didn't have this meeting with Alex, I'd love to participate.

I zip my coat before going outside, but I don't put on my gloves or hat since I'm literally walking across the street. I never really looked at Alex's house before because of the grandeur of the inn and the red barn that demands attention; however, about 50 feet away sits a craftsman style cottage painted light green with a white-trimmed porch that has a two-person swing on the side furthest from the door.

I take a deep breath and straighten my hair before knocking on the door.

Alex answers, looking casual in sweatpants and a long-sleeved, purple shirt. "Hey."

"Hi," I respond with a small wave. "Is now a good time?"

"Yeah." She makes a sweeping gesture. "Come in."

I step inside, noticing the beautiful furnishings but not a hint of Christmas decorations. "It must be nice having your mom right across the street."

"It's life-saving," she says. "Especially when Clara is in school. I usually take her and my mom picks her up."

"Couldn't she walk to school?"

"She will when she gets a little older." Alex moves to the kitchen. "But she's seven so…"

"Ah, right." I follow.

She opens the refrigerator. "Want something to drink? Beer, wine, cider, a cocktail?"

I stand next to her in front of the fridge. "What kind of cider do you have?"

"Pear and apple—both hand pressed by Mr. Magee down the street."

"How about pear cider with bourbon?"

She grins. "I like the way you think."

We talk about our afternoons; I tell her about my long soak in the clawfoot tub at the inn, and she tells me about the food fight that broke out at Red's at lunch. So far, our conversation is light and easy.

Alex hands me a glass, fingers skimming mine. "Does it need more booze?"

I sip it. "No, it's perfect." _Please touch me again_, I think.

She walks back to the living room where there's a beige sofa and two patterned throw pillows. There are two colorful side chairs on either side of the sofa. Above the fireplace is a mounted television and a shallow mantle that holds a few framed photos.

"This is a stark contrast to the inn," I say, eyes landing on the fern near the window.

"Because I don't have any Christmas decorations?"

"Like, zero."

"Yeah." She glances at the floor. "Clara can get all the Christmas she wants across the street."

"But this is her _home_," I offer.

"The inn is her home, too. She spends a night or two every week with my mom and loves being there."

I move to the armchair and take a seat. "Have you ever asked her where she's more comfortable?"

Alex juts her chin back. "No."

I don't reply; instead, I let her take the lead.

"I guess now is as good a time as any to fill you in on my life." She sits on the sofa.

"Whenever you're ready."

She takes a deep breath as if gearing up for a long tale. "As I mentioned, I grew up in Bethlehem and went to school with pretty much the same kids for 13 years. In tenth grade, a new girl named Trish enrolled, and we became fast friends. We were both more interested in mischief than we were math class, so we ditched school pretty frequently. I won't argue that we were a bad influence on each other, but when I got caught, my mom grounded me. Trish's parents were never around. Her father drove 18-wheelers across the country and her mom was a raging alcoholic whose liver failed when Trish was a senior."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Even worse was that her father was killed in a terrible car accident a year later."

"My God."

"Trish lived with me and my mom until she graduated from beauty school a couple years later, and then she moved to an apartment in Littleton, which is one town over and rent is less expensive." She sips her drink. "Even in our 20s, we hung out all the time. I'd been working for the garland factory since I was 15, and Trish got a job at the hair salon on Main Street, so we both had money to go out every week. Thursdays were our typical night on the town, and we mostly went to a dive bar that was within walking distance of her apartment. They had a band every Thursday night, and there was this guy who played keyboard that Trish started talking to. Long story short, Trish and Adam began dating and were together for like 10 years."

"Did she know you liked women?"

Alex snorts. "Everyone knew I liked women."

"It wasn't a big deal in this small town?"

"Not really." She raises her shoulders. "I mean, there were the occasional assholes who felt the need to comment on my sexual preference or gave me the stink eye, but I never paid much attention to them. There are still locals who think I'm a sinner for being gay, but I don't care what they think. We don't run in the same circles."

"That's good."

"Anyway, Adam was sort of a drifter who dropped out of high school and ran away when he was 15. He did odd jobs here and there and occasionally played in this rock band I told you about. When he met Trish and things started getting serious, he got a steady job at the garland factory."

"So, you two worked together?"

Alex nods. "He started on the harvesting team, but eventually we worked in the wreath room together. He was a great guy—full of life, funny, smarter than he gave himself credit for, and boy, did he love Trish." She smiles at the memory. "They were one of those couples who you just _knew_ would be together forever."

"I love those kinds of relationships."

She takes another sip. "They ended up getting pregnant and buying a house a few blocks from here, so we saw each other even more than when she lived in Littleton." She eyes me, blinking once. "Clara is their daughter."

I crease my forehead. "_Clara_?"

"I've been a part of Clara's life since the day she was born. In fact, every other Saturday when Adam had a gig with his band and Trish had to work, I babysat. Clara was always a happy baby and went to anyone unless it was a guy with a beard." Again, Alex smiles at the recollection. "Four years ago, Adam and Trish threw this big Christmas Eve party and everyone got pretty shit faced. I was the last guest to leave and told Trish not to unplug any of her Christmas lights because it was bad luck—Santa wouldn't be able to find their house in the dark and all those ridiculous traditions our parents taught us."

I think I know where this is going, but I don't speak.

"It was a strange winter in Bethlehem that year and we had a lot of sleet and rain, Christmas Eve being one of those odd nights. I walked home in the windy, rainy weather wishing I'd driven instead of having to walk, but I was in no condition to drive after the party—no one was." She takes another sip of her cocktail and I watch her fingers grip the glass harder than before.

"I remember hearing sirens in the middle of the night and wondering what the fuck was going on. I chalked it up to someone's bonfire getting out of control. It wasn't that." Alex pauses. "One of the strands of lights at Trish's house got ripped off by the wind and landed in the gutter which was full of water, and it short circuited. Their house caught on fire." Other than a quick flex of her jaw, she remains motionless. "Adam was able to rescue Clara, but…"

I put a hand on her knee. "_Alex_…"

"Trish was trapped upstairs, and Adam did everything he could to get to her, but the roof caved in, and…" She swallows hard and I wonder if there's an acrid taste of fear in her mouth.

"I am _so_ sorry." I kneel in front of her, one hand on her leg, the other on her arm. "I can't imagine what that must've been like."

She shakes her head and looks up, seemingly trying to stop the tears from falling. "I remember getting a call and rushing to their house. The intense smell of smoke and burned things…" She rests her glasses on top of her head. "Sometimes I can't even sit in front of a fireplace because of the memories the smell evokes."

I sit next to her and make a circling pattern on her back. "What a devastating, life-changing event."

She reaches for a tissue and wipes her eyes. "Trish didn't have any relatives to speak of and Adam hadn't spoken to his parents since he ran away almost 20 years earlier, but he had a half-brother who'd moved to town the year before." She sniffs. "Have you met John?"

"The handsome man-child who works at the inn?"

That provokes a wet laugh. "Yeah, him."

"John is Adam's brother," she explains. "He'd turned 18 on December 5 that year, so technically he was an adult, but he wasn't old enough or mature enough to raise Clara."

I sit next to her, one hand still on her leg. "So what happened?"

"Clara lived with me and my mom while the court tried to contact next of kin," she replies. "It took almost an entire year before they declared Clara a ward of the court, which meant she could be adopted or placed in the foster care system."

I shake my head. "But she was living with you."

"Which made it easier to adopt her. She was three at the time of the fire, and the paperwork for the adoption went through about two years ago, making her officially Clara Vause."

"You didn't want her to keep her last name?"

"I'd met with a number of family and grief counselors who specialize in adoption proceedings, and they said that when a child is too young to really have a connection with her birth family, it's best to change her last name so that she could eventually connect with her adopted parents."

_My God, I feel for her._

She wipes her nose.

"Does she have any memory of the event?" I ask. "Does she know she's adopted?"

"No, she doesn't remember the fire or her parents," she says. "And, yes, she knows I adopted her."

"Did you tell her that her parents died?"

She nods. "I had this one amazing counselor who gave me tips on how and when to address it, so last year right before Thanksgiving, my mom and I told her that her parents were in heaven after a terrible accident."

"How did she react?"

"She had a hundred questions about death and heaven. I explained that's why I don't like celebrating Christmas—because I lost my closest friends that day. I think she's still trying to wrap her head around all of it, but my mom was and _is_ so good at telling Clara that she's surrounded by people who love her. She also explains that Christmas at the inn is special, and just because I don't like celebrating the holiday doesn't mean the two of them can't enjoy it with the rest of Bethlehem."

"That's very true," I comment. "Has she asked you to put up a tree or hang stockings?"

"Yeah, but I squirm out of it." She dabs her eyes once more, then places her glasses back on her face. "I know that's probably not a good strategy. I tried to decorate this year; I really did. I went into the attic one night and pulled down an old box of Christmas stuff, and I saw two sentimental items before I lost my shit."

"Did you cry or have a panic attack?"

She shakes her head. "It wasn't a panic attack. I just get super emotional when I think about Trish, and I'm not usually an emotional person."

"How do you live in a place that's all about the holidays?"

She downs the last of her cocktail. "Nothing about Christmas decorations in public spaces is personal to me. Even the inn being all decked out isn't personal. I don't know how to explain it."

"So, if you hung a stocking, that makes it personal because it's in your house?"

"Yeah, I guess." She pauses. "I don't tell many people about this, but when I do, they try to tell me that my feelings are misplaced and other psychobabble bullshit that I can't stand."

"I won't try to diagnose you," I offer.

She issues a small smile. "Good."

"What I _do _want to know is if you want to get better?"

She blinks at me. "You mean, do I want to appreciate Christmas again?"

I nod.

"I haven't really thought about it," she admits. "I guess so for my daughter's sake and if for no other reason than I don't want anything to have this power over me."

"Then maybe you should take baby steps." I lift my shoulders. "This is a weak comparison but think about a person running a marathon. She doesn't try to run 26 miles the first day, otherwise, she'll fail miserably. She has to train for it one mile at a time."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know…maybe going back to that box in the attic and trying again," I reply. "Letting yourself cry when you look at something that brings back memories, but then talking about the memory with a friend to bring it to life—make it real," I reply. "Are you sad when you talk about Trish?"

"Most memories make me smile. It's only when I think about her death that I get all sad again."

"Did the two of you like Christmas?"

"Loved it," she lets out a wet laugh. "She was the _worst_ present wrapper. She'd cut the paper without measuring or putting the box in the center, so inevitably, it was too short to fit around the entire gift, so she'd give people these presents with a two- or three-inch gap where they could see whatever was inside. It's funny that she ended up cutting hair for a living."

I chuckle. "That _is_ ironic."

"I don't talk about her enough," Alex admits, balling up the Kleenex.

"It seems like when you _do _talk about her, it makes you happy."

She looks at me with a sort of wonder. "I'm not sure what made me tell you all of this."

I give her a gentle smile.

"You're virtually a stranger," she chuckles, still a little stifled from being choked up. "I haven't told any of the women I dated about Trish and Adam or why I hate Christmas."

"I guess that makes me special," I joke.

"You are." She covers my hand with hers. "As crazy as it sounds, for some reason I trust you."

Again, I try keeping my tone light. "I have a very trustworthy face."

"It's more than that," she begins. "It's the way you listen so attentively; the way you look at me and pay attention like no one else is around."

I don't comment on the fact that no one else _is_ around and have to assume she's referring to an earlier time when we were together, and my attention was solely focused on her. It's easy to do—Alex is captivating.

"When I brought you to the Greenberg's poinsettia farm, you had this look of wonder in your eyes almost like a child."

"I'll take that as a compliment rather than a dig about my maturity."

"I've never met anyone who appreciates things the way you do," she says. "The people around here, including my mom, are so used to Christmas being this big thing that sometimes their expressions are more neutral than excited. Christmas, as you've seen, is a way of life here in Bethlehem; it's part of our very existence. But you're not like them—your eyes light up when you're around holiday stuff and when you talk about the magic of Christmas."

I shrug. "Well, I love it."

"That's evident." She issues the biggest smile I've seen all night, but it's still not the one I've been lucky enough to witness before. "I like being around you, Piper."

"Even though I love Christmas?"

She nods. "Oddly enough, yeah."

I give her a gentle smile. "I'm glad."

Slowly, she reaches for my face, cupping my cheek, and leans in to kiss me. It's a quick, light kiss on the corner of my mouth, but it still sends lightening through my veins.

"Thank you for listening."

This time, I close the gap between us, intensifying the kiss.

Our heads angle perfectly, and I bring a hand to her head, raking my fingertips softly through her hair. I open my mouth slightly, and her tongue teases the entrance. I make a little guttural sound at how good it feels, which provokes Alex to kiss me more fully. I follow suit, savoring the way she tastes.

A few seconds later, she pulls back.

"Wow."

Her lips stretch into a smile. "Yeah."

I move a piece of hair off her cheek. "That was nice."

"It was." Out of the blue, she stands. "Would you be willing to try something with me?"

I immediately miss the physical contact and would very much like to resume kissing, but I reply, "Sure."

She walks over to an old-time record player and pulls out an album, and then puts the needle on the record. An unfamiliar, funky Christmas song comes on. I have no idea what it is, but there's no mistaking James Brown's voice.

"Trish and I didn't love the Christmas classics, and we never got into the 90s boy bands and their Christmas songs, so she bought this album at a garage sale when we were like 17. We listened to it over and over again, sometimes singing along and dancing." Alex bops back and forth and snaps her fingers to the beat. She looks perfectly comfortable, all traces of sadness gone except for her red nose.

It's an upbeat song that would make anyone want to tap their hand against their leg and move their feet.

_Give me some go power_

_And let me wipe a big happy smile on everybody's face at Christmas time_

_I need help_

_I can't do it alone_

I watch Alex closely. She closes her eyes at one point, still bending her knees to the beat and singing the chorus. I can tell she feels a strong connection to this song.

When it ends, she removes the needle from the record and sighs, but there's a small smile on her face. "Wow, that brought back memories."

"I've never heard that song before. What was it?" I ask.

"James Brown's _Go Power at Christmas Time_," she replies. "It was Trish's favorite."

"Have you listened to it since she passed?"

She shakes her head.

I stand. "Then this is a big moment for you."

"I guess it is." She nudges her glasses. "I didn't know how it would feel to play it, but I'm surprisingly ok."

I squeeze her hand. "Do you want to listen to more songs that the two of you liked?"

"Yeah."

We listen to two other songs from the James Brown album, and then she puts on a different record, playing a song called _Papa Ain't No Santa Claus (And Mama Ain't No Christmas Tree_) and she laughs—she _actually laughs_. It's a beautiful sight.

"Where did you find these records?"

She hands me the album jacket. "I think Trish bought this one at that same garage sale. She loved second-hand stuff."

I read about Butterbeans and Susie, the duo that recorded the song that's just ending.

"She could also sew, and she'd make these stunning jackets out of old material she bought for like 25 cents at garage sales or second-hand stores," Alex reminisces. "Trish didn't like anything mainstream—from music to clothing to books—if it wasn't unique, she wasn't interested."

"She sounds like a cool person," I comment.

"She was." Grief creeps back onto her face. "And so full of life just like Clara."

"Would she want you to sulk during the Christmas holidays?"

"No," she replies. "She loved the saying, 'put on your big girl shoes' when I complained about something stupid."

"Then why not honor her memory more often with things like this?" I shrug. "Playing songs that the two of you liked actually made you _happy_. I'm not saying everything you do will make you smile, but if you could just shift your mindset a tiny bit, I think you'd be surprised at how good it feels."

"Are you sure you're not a psychologist?" she chuckles.

"I just think you haven't allowed yourself to feel good about Christmas because something terrible happened on that day. You're never going to forget Trish or the tragic way she died, but she sounds like the kind of person who would want you to celebrate life even without her here to join you."

Alex throws her arms around me. As she tightens her grip on my back, I wonder if she's started crying again. I'm sure this whole evening has been an emotional pendulum for her.

"Thank you," she whispers with her chin balanced on my shoulder. "It's going to take me some time to figure out how to make Christmas a happy time again, but I'd like to get there."

I rub her back. "I want that for you."

She pulls back and kisses me again. It's another sweet, gentle kiss first on my lips, then on my nose and finally on my forehead.

"Would you mind if we changed the subject? I'm tired of talking about all this."

"Sure."

"I know next to nothing about you," she says, holding my hand and walking to the kitchen. "Why don't we refill our drinks and you can tell me everything I need to know."

We spend the next hour talking about my life, and although Alex doesn't have as many questions as I do about _her_ life, the ones she asks are poignant. We drink one more cocktail and share a bag of popcorn. We touch each other often—on the elbow, the knee, the hand—it's all innocent, but it's also meaningful. Although I've only known her for a few days, it feels like the beginning of something special.

Just after 10 o'clock, I yawn. "Sorry, I'm kind of beat."

"Same." She stretches.

"Is Clara sleeping at the inn tonight?"

She nods. "I asked my mom if that was ok since I wanted to talk with you and had no idea what time we'd wrap up."

I set my empty glass on a coaster. "You told your mom about me—about us?"

"Only that you seemed like a nice person and I was grateful to you for helping Clara with _Silent Night_," she replies. "I'm sure she saw right through me."

I laugh. "Really?"

"She's very perceptive and maybe a little nosey."

"I think all moms are a little like that." I stand and stretch. "I should get back to my room."

"Would you want to hang out again tomorrow?"

"I'd love that." I grin. "The one thing I don't want to miss is the Christmas tree lighting in the Square."

"I'll be there with Clara and my mom for sure," she responds. "But I was thinking about something with only the two of us during the day. Maybe a walk in the woods or going for a drive in the White Mountains."

"Do you know anything about ice fishing?" I ask.

"I grew up doing it."

"Would you be up for that?"

She lifts her eyebrows. "Seriously?"

I nod. "Seriously."

"Alright…I'll talk to John about borrowing his gear, and I'll make it happen."

"Good."

She tugs the front of my sweater, pulling me closer. Again, she kisses me delicately. "I know I've said it before but _thank you_. I mean it."

"I enjoyed getting to know you."

"Same." She pulls back, still holding my forearms. "Good night, Piper."

"Night, Alex."

I walk outside and she stands on the porch, smiling. I cross the street and wave to her when I get to the second step of the inn. _What a night_.

* * *

Author's Note: This was obviously a pivotal chapter, and though it took me a loooong time to get right, I loved writing it. I hope you enjoyed it as well.


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up the following morning with a smile on my face as I think about my time with Alex last night. I never expected to become friends with anyone in Bethlehem, and I sure as hell never expected to have romantic feelings for anyone here. Maybe this will be a five-day romantic whirlwind that ends the moment I leave this little town, but that's oddly not how it feels. I'm more connected to Alex in this short amount of time than I have been with anyone I've dated. I won't question it—I'll celebrate whatever this is with her for the rest of my time here.

I pick up my phone to see two texts from Alex. The first one simply says _Good morning_ with the sunshine emoji. The next one says she's taking Clara to breakfast with Santa at the school and should be ready to go ice fishing around 11 a.m.

I text back: _Can't wait. I'll pick up something for us to eat for lunch_.

I take a shower and head to the kitchen, where Diane is refilling the coffee carafe.

"Good morning."

She smiles. "Good morning, Piper. How'd you sleep?"

"Heavenly." I take the carafe from her and angle it so that it's easier for her to pour the coffee into it. "My bed is so comfortable."

"Glad to hear it." She pours the rest of it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I pull a red mug off the shelf. "How did the gingerbread house thing go?"

"It was great. They're all on display in the great room if you want to check them out."

"I will."

She lifts the cloche off the freshly baked goods. "I have cheddar bacon biscuits this morning. They're great plain or you can put a dab of butter in the middle."

"I'd love one, thanks." I pop it in the microwave for a few seconds to warm it up.

"How was your evening with Alex?"

I'm glad my back is turned to her, because I'm beginning to blush. "It was fine; great actually."

"Great, huh?" Diane places the pastries back on the counter. "She doesn't usually invite guests from the inn to her house."

I dot a pad of butter on the warm biscuit. "I'm honored." I have no idea how much Alex has told her mom about us, so I tread carefully.

Diane takes a seat next to me. "She told me you ask a lot of questions, and at first it was annoying, but then she grew to appreciate them."

"I can't help it." I shrug. "I'm a writer and a generally curious person."

"I know my daughter well, and she doesn't go around, handing out compliments. You did something last night that affected her. Whatever it is, I'm grateful."

The bell on the counter in the lobby dings. "I should go see who's here. Enjoy breakfast."

"Thank you."

* * *

I spend the morning finishing up my article and talking to my editor twice. He agrees that it's ready to run on Christmas morning as is, but if there's something unbelievably unique that happens at the tree lighting ceremony tonight, I can send him a couple of sentences before midnight.

After that, I watch a few You Tube videos on ice fishing before heading to Red's to pick up lunch for me and Alex. Diane said that they have the best Beef Stroganoff, so I order two to go. I'm sure it'll be freezing on the ice, so I buy a thermos and fill it with hot apple cider. By the time I make it back to the inn, Alex is just outside of the barn, talking to John.

"Hi," I greet them. "Getting everything we need?"

"Hey." Damn, she has a great smile.

John looks up at the sunny sky. "It should be a good day for fishing."

"If it wasn't so damn cold," Alex replies.

"Bring a couple of extra blankets and a change of clothes in case you get wet," he offers.

"I've got some thick blankets in my car," she says, then eyes me. "Are you going to change before we leave?"

I glance at my jeans. "I wasn't going to."

"Those just look like really nice jeans," she says. "You might want to wear something a little…older."

"Ok, well, I can put on a different pair." I hand her the paper bag of food and the Thermos. "Be right back."

I quickly change clothes and throw a couple of extra sweaters and socks in a bag to be safe. When I return to the barn, John is nowhere to be found and Alex is loading the last of the gear into the back of her Subaru.

She closes the hatchback. "All set?"

"Yes." I toss my bag in the backseat. "Did you get everything we'll need?"

"I did." She starts the car. "Thanks for picking up lunch. Whatever it is smells really good."

"No problem."

"How was your morning?"

I tell her about my finished article, then she tells me about Clara's breakfast with Santa. About 30 minutes later, we drive on a dirt road and finally park off to the side of a small lake. There's a tiny cabin next to the lake that looks to be unoccupied, and I wonder if it's private property.

She turns off the engine. "Here we are."

I unhook my seatbelt.

"Before we get out, I wanted to…" She reaches a hand out and cups my cheek.

As she leans towards me, I meet her in the middle, our lips touching in a firm kiss as we both smile.

Alex caresses my cheek with her thumb. "I've wanted to do that since I saw you this morning."

I bite my lip. "Me, too."

She switches gears. "Ready to catch some fish?"

"I am."

We get out of her car, and she hands me a bucket and tells me the names of each of the items she's placing in it. "I brought a few different types of bait, but I think we'll have the best luck using these wax worms."

"Whatever you say." I take the fishing rods from her. "These look like poles for children."

She shuts the hatchback. "They do."

"I watched a few videos online this morning."

Alex grins. "You did?"

"I like to know what I'm getting myself into." I shrug. "Did you know that Native Americans used to spear the fish rather than using a pole?"

"I did know that, actually," she chuckles. "What other trivia questions might you ask about our little adventure?"

"Hmm…" I follow her onto the ice. "They used to create holes using large chunks of ice that they shaped into picks. It wasn't until the late 1800s when the threaded auger was invented."

"It must've been a pain in the ass to drill holes without an auger," she replies.

"How many do you usually drill?"

"Three or four." She takes the items out of one bucket and flips it over. "You can sit here if you'd like."

"I want to make the fishing holes with you."

"Ok." She walks carefully on the ice. "We want to fish on white ice. You can see the clear ice here, but the fish are more drawn to the white ice because it gives them a sense of protection. White ice also shields our shadows or the shadow of the fishing pole."

"Makes sense."

Alex stops. "I'll dig a couple of holes here, then you can try over there."

"Ok." I watch her use the auger like a pro.

We walk about 20 feet away from the last hole. "Think you've got it?"

"Yeah." I take the tool from her and start turning. "It's harder than it looks."

She puts a hand on her hip. "Either that or you're not as strong as you look."

I eye her. "I'm perfectly strong."

She folds her arms. "Alright, Muscles, keep drilling."

I twist the auger a few more times and finally reach the water. "I did it!"

"You did," she laughs.

Alex shows me how to set up the line and the bait, and then she tosses a blanket over my legs. "You'll want to bob the pole up and down with the artificial bait." She demonstrates for me. "An aggressive snap might trigger bites too, so play around with how hard or soft you move the pole."

"What do I do if I get a bite?"

"Pull the rod and start reeling."

"Ok." I let out a long breath. "Come out, little fish."

"I'm going to watch you for a little while before I set up another line." She lifts the Thermos. "Is this apple cider?"

I smile. "Yes."

"Mind if I pour us some?"

"I'd love that." I bob my line. "It's not as cold as I thought it would be out here—no colder than back in town."

"Must be the sunshine." She fills two aluminum mugs, then hands me one. "Still, it's barely above freezing."

I shiver. "I'm not saying I'm warm."

She blows on the hot liquid. "I'd offer to warm you, but that's impossible right now."

"I'll take a rain check." I feel something pull my line. "Alex! I had a bite."

"Bob it a few more times."

Suddenly, the pole makes a huge curve. "I got one!" I pull and then reel it in. "I caught a fish!"

She reaches out to grab it. "That didn't take long."

I lean in to look closer at the fish. "I used something called the lift and drop technique that I saw in one of the videos."

That makes her laugh. "Whatever works, kid."

I clap for myself. "I did it."

She holds the fish out. "Want your picture with it?"

"Our picture." I remove a glove and reach for my phone. "You can hold the fish while I snap the picture. Ready?"

Alex puts her other arm around my shoulders, and I place my arm around her waist and take the photo. "Cute."

She smiles down at me. "We are."

We spend the next hour ice fishing, and I catch three more, while Alex catches six. Apparently, this is considered a successful fishing trip. The wind picks up considerably, and she suggests we leave.

"But the fish are still biting," I complain, nevertheless following her with the bucket of fish.

"We have plenty," she responds. "Besides, aren't you hungry?"

"Now that I think about it, I guess I am."

Alex puts the fishing gear in the car, and I hand her the bucket of fish.

"We can go in the cabin to eat if you want, or we can eat in the car with the heater on."

"That's your cabin?"

She nods. "Technically, it's John's."

"Let's eat in there."

She grabs the bag from the back seat. "I'm going to have to build a fire."

I reflect back on our conversation last night about how she often avoids sitting in front of a fireplace because of what happened to her friends on Christmas, and I wonder if I should change my mind about where to eat.

"No heat?" I ask.

"No electricity," she responds, opening the door.

"You leave it unlocked?"

"Yeah."

To say that the cabin is sparse would be an understatement. There's a futon with a thick blanket along the back, a pellet stove, a small dresser and a makeshift closet with a few hangers dangling from a rod. There's no way more than two people can fit comfortably in the miniscule space.

"It's…" I trail off.

"Small?" she chuckles. "John is the only one who uses it."

"Have you ever spent the night?"

She sets the bag of food on the dresser. "God, no. Electricity was invented for a reason."

I fold my arms and shiver. "It's freezing in here."

"I'll light the stove." She opens a drawer and pulls out a scoop of pellets.

I take the risk and ask, "This kind of fire doesn't bother you?"

"It's rare for me to have one of my moments when I'm near a contained fire," she answers. "I mean, it happens from time to time, but if I need to build a fire to stay warm, I can turn off thoughts about that Christmas."

"Are you sure?" I touch her arm. "Because we can eat in the car or drive back to town."

"Positive." She gives me a tight-lipped smile. "Besides, have I mentioned how hungry I am?"

Now that I'm confident she's ok, I'm a bit more at ease. "Yes, you mentioned that." I pull out the two containers.

Alex closes the pellet stove and ensures it's lit. "It'll take about 10 minutes to warm this small space up."

"I can handle ten minutes."

She sits next to me on the futon, pulling the blanket from the back and covering our legs. "Good?"

I nod. "Here's yours."

"What is it?" She opens the lid. "Beef Stroganoff?"

"Your mom told me that Red's is the best, so I had to try it before I left."

"Thank God we're eating inside," she laughs. "This is not the kind of food one usually brings on a fishing trip."

"Why not?" I pass her a plastic fork.

"Because it's difficult to eat."

I place a few napkins on my knee. "What do people usually bring?"

"A sandwich; maybe a bag of chips or an apple." Nevertheless, she digs in. "Fuck, this is good—cold but good."

"Well, we're civilized fishermen." I take a bite, disappointed that it's cold but happy to taste it. "Your mom is right; it's delicious."

We scarf down our food and talk about how to clean and cook fish. I admit I've never caught or cleaned them before, and I've only cooked fish three or four times in my apartment.

Ten minutes later, I have a satisfied belly and the cabin is warmer.

"What's Clara doing this afternoon?"

Alex places the empty containers in the paper bag. "Her friend, Mia, invited her to go sledding."

"Sounds fun."

"She's pretty athletic and loves any kind of outdoor sport." She holds an arm out, and I tuck my body against hers, pulling the blanket more fully over our bodies. "She definitely takes more after her dad than Trish."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

I nod. "Are you athletic?"

"Hardly." She smiles. "I didn't grow up playing sports or doing anything particularly athletic. I stay in shape by doing a lot of maintenance at my house and helping John in the barn."

"You seem to be in excellent shape."

She eyes me. "What do you do to stay in shape?"

"Mostly run." I shrug. "I try doing yoga a few times a week, but I don't always find the time."

"You kind of have a yoga body."

"Thanks, I guess."

We remain silent for another minute, and I enjoy the quietness of the moment.

I break the silence. "Can I ask you a question?"

Her lips quirk to the side. "Nothing has stopped you so far."

"Why don't you work at the inn?"

"When I was a teenager, I wanted nothing to do with the family business," she admits. "I wanted to get a job on my own and earn a paycheck that my grandfather didn't sign."

"So, it was a matter of pride?"

"That's how it started," she replies. "I covered the front desk a couple times a week but hated dealing with the public. As you might imagine, I'm not as skilled as my mom in customer service."

I smile. "No?"

She chuckles. "The shit people ask for would blow your mind."

"Like what?"

"Let's see…" she taps a finger on my upper arm. "One woman asked if I had a spare cage for her gerbil. Another asked for 15 towels and she was the only one staying in the room."

"Seriously?"

She nods. "It's not just their absurd requests. People steal things like crazy. I get taking all the bath products or even a hand towel, but people have stolen the bedding, a garbage can, a lamp, the actual light fixture above the sink."

"No way!"

"Yeah," she says. "I don't want any part of running the inn."

"What will happen to it when your mom can't run it any longer?"

She shrugs. "John is good with people. He'll probably take over in the next few years. I told him if he did that, I'd take care of the financial side of things."

"Did he accept?"

"Yes, but there will have to be a much more official conversation down the road with legal paperwork and all."

"What about Clara?"

"I'll get her name on the business license," she replies. "John won't have a problem with that."

"Is your name on it now?"

She nods. "It has been for a long time, and if something bad were to happen on the property, I wouldn't want my mom to take sole responsibility."

"That's very noble."

"She helps me with Clara so much; it's the least I can do."

I snuggle closer and stare up at her. "This has been a surprising trip."

"It has." She rubs my arm.

"I'm glad we met."

A tiny smile graces her lips as she leans down to kiss me. Every time our mouths touch my pulse quickens. I feel fortunate to be on the other end of Alex's affection.

"Me, too," she whispers, wiping my lower lip with the pad of her thumb. "We should probably head back."

"Yeah." I sit up straight, mind and body reverting to the world out there. "What time is it?"

"A little after two." She turns the pellet stove off. "I want to shower before the tree lighting."

I sniff my arm. "We probably smell like fish."

Alex's lips tug up. "Probably."

"I'm glad you're going to the lighting." I fold the blanket over the back of the futon.

"There are three holiday things I have to do whether I want to or not," she begins. "Buy gifts for the people I love, attend the annual tree lighting, and watch my daughter unwrap presents on Christmas morning."

I pick up the food bag. "Those are important things."

"They are." She bends down to make sure the stove is off, and then holds the door open for me. "Do you want to walk over to the town square with us later?"

I make a waving motion. "That sounds more like a family thing."

"There will be like 200 people there, Piper, it's not just a family thing," she laughs lightly.

I get in the car. "Ok, if you think it would be appropriate for me to walk over with you, I'd love that."

"Good."

We make our way back to town, holding hands the whole way. I love the way her hand feels in mind. Even with such a small gesture, I feel safe and wanted and important. I could get used to this _every fucking day_.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I've been traveling for the holidays and have found it extremely difficult to post. The formatting of this chapter might be wonky, so I apologize if it is. This is the last chapter, then you'll get a short Epilogue in another day or two depending when I can find time to re-write and post it. Merry Christmas to all!

* * *

That evening just before five o'clock, a crowd gathers in the great room of the inn. Turns out, everyone plans to walk to the tree lighting together, so I had nothing to worry about after all with it just being me tagging along with Alex and her family.

"Look what I got," Clara holds up a gift.

I bend down. "Is that a lacrosse stick?"

She giggles. "No, silly, it's a hockey stick!"

"You got your very own hockey stick?"

She holds it out. "I get to open one present from my mom on Christmas Eve, and this is the one I chose."

I take it from her and examine it, not having a clue what would make this a good hockey stick but appreciating the joy Clara feels upon receiving it. "You're a lucky girl."

"Yep. I can't wait to start lessons in January." She takes the stick back. "Are you coming to the tree lighting?"

"I sure am." I spot Alex talking to John at the front desk and can't stop my face from lighting up.

"It's fun," Clara says. "The kids get to go on stage and sing. You can sing along, too if you know the words."

After catching Alex's eye, I return my attention to her daughter. "I'll do my best."

A crew of guests starts filing out the front door, and I make my way to Alex.

She gives me a once over. "You clean up nicely."

She looks stunning in tight jeans and a royal blue turtleneck sweater.

"So do you."

"Ready?" she asks, holding out her arm.

I nod, threading my arm through hers. "Where's your mom?"

"Right behind you," Diane responds.

I look back to see her grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Oh, hi, Diane." I begin to remove my arm from Alex's, but she places her other hand over mine, silently indicating that's not necessary. I glance up at her to ensure I'm reading the situation right, and she gives me a little smile.

"At least it's not snowing yet," Diane offers.

"Are we expecting snow?"

She nods. "Forecast calls for it sometime between now and midnight."

"I hope it's not a terrible storm so that Santa can find all the children's houses," I say.

She smiles warmly at me. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

We arrive in an already crowded town square. There are four booths on either side of the tree that appear to be selling hot cocoa and apple cider as well as some Christmas snacks.

"Do you guys want anything to eat or drink?" Alex asks.

"I'd like hot chocolate with marshmallows, please," Clara says.

"I'm good," Diane responds. "We'll get a spot to the left of the tree."

"I'll walk with you." I unlink my arm from Alex's. "This is quite the spectacle."

"It gets bigger every year," she replies. "I'm not a big fan of crowds, so…" She leads me to a booth. "Trish and I used to come to the tree lighting before we could legally drink. We'd bring a container of spiked cider and a flask for refills and sit on that roof over there." She points in the direction of the pub.

"You were a naughty girl."

She gives me a look—something between confidence and curiosity. "I was."

"Can I help you?" An older man behind the counter asks.

Alex orders two hot chocolates with marshmallows.

"I hope this brings back good memories," I say quietly.

"It does." Although her smile is barely there, it's there. "And I'm hoping to make new memories tonight."

My heart flips. "I'd like that."

We locate Diane and Clara in the crowd as the mayor gets on stage.

"Thanks, mommy!" Clara takes the hot chocolate.

"Greetings citizens of Bethlehem and all of you from near and far," he begins. "Tonight we celebrate an age-old tradition of lighting the Christmas tree in our town square."

The crowd cheers.

"In 1856, the illuminated Christmas tree hit the big time when President Franklin Pierce had the White House tree decorated with candles, and the very next year, the Bethlehem tree lighting commenced. As it's done every year, I ask all the children to fill in the risers on either side of the tree."

At least 50 children scamper onto the risers and take their place. There are four or five women handing them song sheets as they get settled. A conductor, who I think is the same person involved with the school's Christmas recital, stands on a podium and motions for the children to be quiet. As soon as they obey, the music strikes up and a spotlight shines on the kids who start singing O Little Town of Bethlehem.

I sing along with the audience and glance up at Alex who appears a little uncomfortable.

I lean over, lacing our gloved fingers together. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." She adjusts her glasses and squeezes my hand. "Really."

After that song ends and the crowd claps, It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas blares through the speakers. Like the rest of the audience, I sing and bop along to the song. Alex doesn't sing a word.

"Thank you, children. That was beautiful," the mayor says. "Now, I'd like to welcome Santa Claus who will light the tree."

Jolly old Santa takes the stage as someone hands him a cord with a big button. "We'll start the countdown at 10, 9, 8…"

Everyone counts down until hitting one, when Santa lights up the 40-foot tree. Once again, I glance at Alex who slowly claps like it's a chore. She's smiling a bit, but it's not a joyous smile. Her mom puts an arm around her, and Alex gives her a tight-lipped smile.

The music starts again, this time with the children singing O, Christmas Tree. Alex's hand slides down my arm until our hands link again, but her eyes are on the stage. I squeeze it, hoping she feels my support and knowing this isn't easy for her. Finally, as the song ends, she looks at me and mouths thank you before releasing me.

Clara runs up to us. "Did you see me up there?"

Alex lifts her, kissing her on the nose before setting her down. "You had the perfect spot next to the tree."

"I liked being that high up."

"I bet," Alex says. Now that's a genuine smile. "I heard you above all the other kids."

"I sang really loud," she proudly states.

"And you did a wonderful job," Diane chimes in.

"Clara, do you want to play Christmas bowling in the gym?" a little girl approaches us.

Clara blinks up at Alex. "Mommy, can I?"

"Don't worry, adult supervision is taken care of," a man announces with a hand on the little girl's shoulder.

"Thanks, Dan," Alex says, presumably knowing the man. She turns to Clara. "You can go, but we're eating dinner in an hour."

"Were you planning to eat in the cafeteria?" Dan asks.

"I was going to take her home for dinner."

"They're serving hot dogs and hamburgers at the school." He shrugs. "I'd be happy if Clara wanted to join us."

"Please, mommy?" she begs.

"Are you sure it's not an imposition?"

"Not at all," Dan responds. "Besides, you had Grace for a sleepover last weekend."

"Ok." Alex smiles. "I'll come by to pick her up around eight."

Clara and Grace do a little shimmy in celebration.

"Don't worry about it. I'll bring her home later," Diane announces. "The gals and I are going to play Christmas bingo in the gym. The grand prize is a free massage."

"What about our soup dinner?" Alex asks.

Diane shrugs. "I'm sure there will be leftovers."

"Ok, if you're all good with this little plan, I guess I am, too."

Grace holds Clara's hand and they run towards the school.

"Wait up, girls!" Dan calls. "Good seeing you." He takes off after them.

"My family just stood me up on Christmas Eve," Alex chuckles, more amused than hurt by the situation.

"I'd be happy to join you for dinner if you'd rather not eat alone."

She beams at me. "I'd like that very much."

* * *

We take our time walking back to her house, and once again I marvel at the decorated storefronts. I love this little town and wonder what it would be like to visit when it's not the holiday season. I don't say as much to Alex.

"Did you enjoy your first Bethlehem tree lighting?"

I glance up at her. "Very much."

"Good."

"How was it for you?" I continue looking up at Alex, but her head remains bowed as if she's counting the cracks on the sidewalk.

"More manageable than in years past," she sighs.

"Baby steps," I remind her, bumping my shoulder against her arm.

Her head twists my way as her lips tug up. "Baby steps."

We arrive at her house, and I enter first. I'm delightfully surprised when her strong arms wind around my body and her nose nudges my hair on the side of my neck. She places a string of kisses below my ear, and I tilt my head to give her better access.

Alex slowly spins me around, arms never leaving my body. When we're face to face, I admire the most genuine, earnest smile I've seen all night.

"How did this happen?"

I string my arms over her shoulders. "How did what happen?"

"This." She squeezes my hips. "How did you come into my life, especially at this time of year?"

I lift my shoulders and keep the tone light. "A Christmas miracle?"

She chortles and then quickly sobers, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "I lost someone incredibly important to me on this day four years ago," she pauses. "The fact that I met you is…unreal. Like, literally not real."

"Oh, it's very real." I place a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "I know you don't believe in Christmas miracles, but I believe people come into our lives for a reason. Something in the universe—something greater than us—brought me here; brought us together." I make small circles on her back. "And it's no mistake that we met during the holidays—a time when you need a friend more than ever."

Alex sways with me like we're dancing without music. "I do need a friend at this time of year." She kisses my jawline. "But I hope we've moved into the more-than-friends territory."

"Friendship always comes first." I let my head fall back, giving her wandering lips access to my neck. "But this is also nice."

She chuckles against my skin, lips vibrating against my neck and tickling me. My head shoots up as I laugh.

I take a whiff of the fragrant air. "Something smells really good."

"It's the Moroccan style vegetable soup." Her hand slides down my arm until grasping my fingers and tugging me towards the kitchen.

"What makes it different from regular vegetable soup?"

"It has all the normal veggies, but Moroccan soup has parsnips and chickpeas and is seasoned with cumin and turmeric." She lifts the lid and the flavorful broth rises to my nose.

"Yum."

Alex dips a spoon into the pot, then holds it up for me to taste. "I'm a big fan of soups in the winter. I made this one a few weeks ago and Clara liked it so much she asked me to make it again on Christmas Eve."

I slurp it. "She's eating a hot dog over this soup? Crazy."

"There will be plenty of leftovers." She replaces the lid. "Do you want to eat now?"

"I could eat."

We sit at the kitchen counter and eat dinner while talking about foods that should only be consumed during certain seasons. Alex insists that there's no such thing as cold soups, but I point out gazpacho, one of my favorite summer lunches. She argues that I might as well drink a bloody mary with a bunch of garnishes. The conversation moves to seasonal alcoholic drinks, and while I refuse to drink rose in the colder months she's far less picky.

Except for our first meeting at the pub, our conversations are effortless. We never run out of things to talk about and while we disagree on the seasonality of food and drinks, I enjoy listening to her rationale. I don't remember the last time I had such a deep connection with someone and can't fathom how quickly our relationship turned into this.

I load the bowls and spoons into the dishwasher, while Alex ladels the soup in Tupperware.

"Thank you for dinner." I rub my belly. "The soup was delicious."

"I'm glad you liked it." She puts the last container in the refrigerator. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

I walk over to the four-bottle wine rack. "What do you have?"

She stands next to me, pulling a bottle off the rack. "This Gamay is from upstate New York. If you like lighter reds, it's nice."

"I prefer full bodied, big reds."

She reaches for one on the lower rack. "I think this should do."

I read the label of the 2013 Zinfandel. "Perfect."

"Will you grab a couple of wine glasses?" She twists the corkscrew in the bottle, pulling the cork until that familiar pop echoes in the air.

"I love that sound."

She lightly laughs as she pours each of us a glass of red. She slides one glass to me and picks up the other. "To new Christmas memories."

"I'll drink to that." I tap my glass against hers before taking a sip. "Mmm. This is nice."

"It's not bad." She swirls the burgundy liquid in her glass. "Would you be up for trying something with me?"

"Depends what it is." I grin, though I'd probably do anything she asked.

Her mouth twitches like she's not sure she should proceed, yet she does. "I want to try going through that Christmas box in the attic again."

My eyebrows rise high on my forehead. "Ok."

She wraps her thumb and forefinger around her glasses. "But you can't make fun of me if I get emotional."

I wrap my fingers around her wrist. "I would never make fun of you for that."

"Maybe for other things though?" her face cracks into a sweet smile as she lightens the mood.

"Possibly." I step closer. "Though I don't know what I could possibly find to make fun of."

"No?" Her gentle fingers trail down my cheek and lift my chin before she delicately kisses me.

I shake my head. "Mm mm."

"I'm going to need this." She holds her glass of wine higher.

I grab the bottle. "Let's bring the bottle just in case."

I follow Alex down the hallway and quickly peek into two rooms we pass. The first is clearly Clara's with its light purple paint and stuffed animals on the bed. The second must be a home office. Alex stops before we reach the third room, which I assume is her bedroom. She stands on her toes and pulls a cord to release the attic stairs.

Once it reaches the ground, she climbs the rungs and turns on a light. "Come up."

I pass her my glass and the bottle from the second rung. The attic is cold and damp, and I curse myself for not wearing my coat if we're going to be up here for a while.

Because of the extremely low and slanted ceilings, Alex has to bend at the waist to move around. "Here's it is." She brings the box to where I'm sitting with my legs dangling in the attic opening.

"I thought it would be much bigger."

She points to a stack of boxes. "All of those contain Christmas stuff."

I glance at the six or seven medium-sized cardboard boxes. "And you haven't opened them in four years?"

"No." She stares at the box between us and I watch her throat contract as she gulps. She unhooks the flaps and pulls out the first item: a white and gold angel tree topper.

"It's beautiful."

"It was Trish's," she replies. "She bought it when she lived in Littleton and put it atop her Christmas tree for a couple years until the religious symbolism of the angel got to her. I hadn't put up my own tree at that point, but she made me promise that the following Christmas I would get a tree even if it was solely to use this hand-me-down tree topper."

"Did you?"

"I did." She nods. "I had a tree for the next five or six years. Trish would always help me decorate, and she'd place the angel on top when we were finished hanging all the ornaments."

"Sounds like a nice tradition."

Despite her dark rimmed glasses and the low light in the attic, I detect tears barely hanging in Alex's eyelids.

"Ok…" she exhales a long breath, presumably glad that she made it through the first challenge. She pulls out the next item: a yellow and blue knitted stocking.

"Those are odd colors for a stocking," I comment.

"Like I mentioned, Trish was anything but traditional," she says. "Except for a few Christmas decorations that had sentimental value, she didn't buy red and green things."

I touch the fabric. "Right. She was anti-mainstream."

A gentle smile crosses her face as she sets the item down and reaches for another. This process continues for the next 15 minutes. About half of the things she pulls out of the box have something to do with Trish, but the other half are simply Christmas decorations that don't seem to have a place in Alex's heart.

I watch her closely as she unveils each item. She's unaffected when she talks about the non-sentimental stuff, but when she mentions Trish, her face drops. Only once does she actually shed a few tears, and it's when she removes a chipped Santa mug that she and Trish made in ceramics class in high school.

She gets to the last item, a small, silver reindeer figurine, and I'm thankful it doesn't make her cry.

"I think I bought this at Marshall's," she chuckles.

"I buy a lot of my shoes there," I comment.

"That's it." Alex glances in the box one final time. "I did it."

I rub her back. "You did."

She shoves her glasses to the top of her head and rubs her eyes. "That wasn't terrible."

I move my hand to her thigh. "Good."

She glances at the ceiling and shakes her head in rapid bursts. "I'm relieved."

"This was a pretty big step."

She returns her attention to me and lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "I don't know how many times I can thank you."

I smile up at her, trying to make the moment light. "One more would be fine."

Her cold fingers cradle my cheek. "Thank you," she whispers with reverence before placing her lips on mine.

I don't ever want to stop kissing Alex. Her lips are full and warm and oh so inviting.

She pulls back. "I think I'm going to set a few of these things out."

"That's a great idea."

We hobble down the rickety ladder with three items: the colorful stocking, the ceramic mug and the angel tree topper. Rather than find the perfect places for these things, Alex sets them on the mantle side by side.

She steps back and admires them.

"That's a lovely tribute," I say from just behind her.

"Yeah," she whispers, taking a moment to absorb the weight of the moment.

"Maybe we can try listening to some upbeat Christmas music."

She turns to me with a small but appreciative smile. "None of that sad stuff?"

I shake my head as I wrap my arms around her waist.

She kisses my forehead a few times while threading both hands through my hair. "If I can get through a box of Christmas stuff, I sure as hell can listen to a little holiday jazz." She moves to the shelf beneath the record player.

She turns an album over in her hands. "I think this was my grandfather's."

I finish my wine. "Let's give it a shot."

Alex puts the needle on the record and an up tempo version of Let it Snow blares through the speakers before she turns it down.

"Mmm, I love jazz." I top of our wine glasses. "I don't listen to it often enough."

"Same." She takes the glass and moves to the sofa. "Maybe this is the key to helping me enjoy Christmas music again—listening to upbeat instrumental stuff rather than the sappy songs that make me sad."

"I hope so." I sit next to her. "This feels a little more loungey. I mean, it's obviously still Christmas music, but I feel like I'm sitting in a swanky Manhattan bar, being serenaded by a jazz trio."

"And not paying $20 for a glass of mediocre wine."

I chuckle. "That's also a plus."

"Speaking of Manhattan, how long have you lived in the city?"

I tuck my legs underneath me. "It'll be ten years this summer. I moved right after graduating from Smith."

She sips her wine. "Do you like city living?"

"Most of the time I do," I reply, thinking about my tiny apartment on the Upper West Side. "I love the mixing bowl of cultures; the bright city lights; the variety of food and restaurants." I take a sip. "Every year, my friend Polly and I do an experiment to see how little we can spend on food for one day."

"What's the least you've ever spent?"

"The rule is you have to eat three meals, and you can never go back to the same place year after year," I begin. "Last year, I spent $12.50."

She laughs. "What could you possibly have eaten in New York City to spend that little?"

"A cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese at the local bodega for $4.50, a hot dog from a street vendor for $4, and a slice of pizza and a Coke for $4 for dinner," I proudly state. "I'm not saying they were healthy food choices, but I spent very little money."

"That's the problem in this country—you can buy a fucking hot dog for four bucks, but a salad costs double that."

"I know." I take another sip of wine. "And don't get me started on—"

The door opens and Clara runs inside. "Mommy, look what I won!" She holds out a plastic candy cane filled with Hershey's kisses.

"Congratulations, kiddo!" Alex welcomes her daughter onto her lap. "How'd you get a prize?"

"I had the highest score in Christmas bowling."

"What does Christmas bowling entail?" I ask.

She scoots between us. "The bowling pins are these big green bottles that are all decorated with ribbons and stuff, and you roll a red ball to hit them from far away."

"That sounds hard," I comment.

"It is, but I got the hang of it after my first three times. You can bounce the ball if you want, so it's not really like bowling."

Diane steps inside. "You run too fast for me, hon."

She giggles and hops off the sofa, heading down the hallway.

"How was Bingo?" Alex asks, craning her neck back to look at her mom.

"It was fun, but I didn't win." She unwraps her scarf. "Cheryl always wins. I think she might be sleeping with the guy who calls the numbers."

"Did you guys eat?" Alex asks.

Diane unzips her coat and sits in an armchair. "Clara had two hot dogs and a bag of chips."

Alex lifts her eyebrows. "Two?"

She nods, and then her expression shifts. "You're listening to Christmas music?"

"We are." Alex leans forward. "Was this grandpa's album?"

"I think it was." She issues a nostalgic smile and listens closer. "The Eddie Higgins Trio."

She stands and presents her mom with the album jacket.

"We used to listen to this all the time," Diane says, admiring the photo on the front. "Brings back some good memories."

"It's making new memories for me," Alex says in a quiet voice, looking my way.

Her mom squeezes her hand. "I'm glad." Then she turns to me with a gleam in her eyes.

"We were just talking about how this music gives us the feeling of sitting in a swanky New York lounge, listening to a jazz trio play Christmas songs," I add.

"I could see that," Diane agrees.

Clara enters the living room. "Mommy, I can't find my official Christmas pjs."

"You have official Christmas pajamas?" Alex asks with a smile.

She nods. "The blue ones with the reindeer and snowflakes all over them."

"Ah, those." Alex gets up. "I'll help you."

They exit the living room, leaving me alone with Diane.

"I can't believe it." Diane smiles broadly and shakes her head. "Do you know what you've done?"

"No, but I hope it's not bad," I respond, gripping my wine glass.

"You brought the Christmas spirit back to my daughter." Her eyes become watery. "She's been so fixated on the tragedy that happened four years that she hasn't been able to bring herself to celebrate the holidays, and you're reminding her that Christmas doesn't have to stand for that."

"You're giving me far too much credit," I respond. "I mean, I listened and helped her process her feelings, but Alex strikes me as a strong woman. From what I can tell, she wouldn't do something just because I suggested it."

"She needed someone to help her see the good side of Christmas," Diane replies, dabbing her eyes. "And you did that…I can't thank you enough, Piper."

I feel a blush spreading from my neck to my cheeks. "No need to thank me. It's been a pleasure getting to know her."

Clara barrels into the living room dressed in her pajamas. "We found them!"

"Those are pretty cool, but what makes them official Christmas pajamas?" I ask.

"I wore them last year." She twirls on the ball of her foot with her arms open wide, and I notice the sleeves are a little too short.

Diane stands. "You have a better memory than I do, hon."

"You've grown out of them," Alex notes. "We'll buy you new ones next year."

"Only if they're exactly like this." Clara scratches her head as if something suddenly dawns on her. "Do we have cookies for Santa?"

"I have about three dozen of 'em at the inn." Diane zips her coat. "You can pick your favorite two for Santa."

"What about oatmeal for the reindeer?" I ask.

Clara gives me a quizzical look. "Oatmeal?"

"Rudolph and the gang need to eat, too," I explain. "I still set out a cup of dried oats for them."

Clara tugs on Alex's arm. "Can we do that, mom?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Good. Can we go to the inn now?"

Alex bends down to help her daughter with her coat. "Why don't you and Gram head to the inn, and I'll be there in a little while?"

"John texted a few minutes ago to tell me he was about to play Elf in the family room," Diane says. "He said lots of kids are already there in their pajamas."

Clara tugs on her mittens. "The cartoon version or the real one?"

"The one with Will Ferrell."

"Yes!" She makes a fist pump. "But first, I want to pick out the Santa cookies."

"Ok." Diane takes her hand.

"I'll see you in a little while," Alex says.

Clara hugs her mom with one arm. "Ok, bye, mommy."

The two of them leave, and I stand. "I should go."

"Why?"

"So you can spend the night before Christmas with your family."

She reaches for my hands. "You're pretty fucking amazing."

I look at my feet, uncomfortable yet flattered by the compliment.

She tilts my chin until our eyes meet. "I mean it."

"I think the same of you." I hope my smile reflects the joy I feel. "I wish I didn't have to leave tomorrow."

Her fingertips glide up my cheek. "Then don't."

I place my hands on her waist and lean into her gentle touch. "I promised my family I'd be home for Christmas dinner."

A little sound escapes her mouth, and I can tell she wants to say something, but she stays quiet, caressing my cheek.

While I'd rather not talk about the reality of my limited time left in Bethlehem, I feel like I must. "My flight leaves at 11 tomorrow morning, and I have to return the rental car, so I'm going to head out just before nine."

"I'd like to see you again." She leans down, placing a feathery kiss on the mouth. "Soon."

"I'd like that, too." It's hard not to take this kiss to the next level, but I restrain myself from pulling her closer. I squeeze her hips and return the light kiss.

"It would be hard for me to spend any length of time in New York," she admits. "I mean, I can do it, but it'll take some planning."

"I can come here."

Her other hand rises to my face. "Would you be up for that?"

I nod and smile. "Even though I love Bethlehem at Christmas time, I'd like to come back when it's just a regular small town."

She lets out an amused puff of air.

"I can probably take a few days off the second week of January."

"I was thinking more like next week."

I circle her wrists and pull her hands down until they're locked between our bodies. "That's a quick turnaround, but I can try."

"I mean, unless you think that's too soon," she begins.

"No! No, it's not too soon," I hastily interrupt. "I want to see you every day."

That causes her to smile. "Maybe that can happen one day."

The thought of seeing Alex daily sends my heart soaring. "I'd like that."

She brings our joined hands up to her mouth, kissing my knuckles. "I hope we can see each other before you leave tomorrow."

"Can you come to my room before 9 a.m.?"

She nods. "I'm spending the night at the inn with Clara and my mom, so I should be able to make that happen."

"Good." I walk with her to the door. "Walk over with me?"

"Let me just grab my stuff." Alex squeezes my hand and then hurries down the hallway.

Two minutes later, she returns with a duffle bag. "Ok."

We walk to the inn together hand-in-hand, and the strongest feeling hits me square in the chest: I want to spend every Christmas with Alex. It's preposterous to think such thoughts after having only met a few days ago, but I can't help myself.

The inn is relatively quiet when we walk in, and no one is at the front desk. Alex leads me down the corridor and we stop in front of the great room, noticing children spread across the floor in their pajamas, watching Elf. A few parents are scattered about, some next to their children and others in armchairs. It's a beautiful scene of what typical families do during the Christmas holidays.

I spot Clara on the sofa, head on her grandma's lap.

"I should…" Alex whispers, squeezing my hand tightly before letting go.

"See you in the morning."

I return to my room with a content smile even though I'd rather spend the entire evening with Alex. I don't blame her for wanting to spend time with her family; in fact, I encourage it, but deep down inside, I'd like to benefit from her company, too.

I get ready for bed and pack my suitcase as best I can so that I don't have to rush around tomorrow morning. I glance out the window and admire the lights on Main Street that I can see from this vantage point. This has been a magical trip—one I'll never forget.

Crawling into bed, I turn off the lamp and pull the warm comforter over my body. This really is a glorious bed. As I drift off to sleep, I think about Alex and the miracle of our meeting. So maybe it wasn't a miracle per se, but it was…an unexpected treat. I learned a lesson while I've been in Bethlehem about judging people too soon and am reminded of Elizabeth Bennett's sharp judgement of Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice. I giggle at myself, thinking how all things lead back to Jane Austen.

* * *

A knock at the door startles me in the middle of the night. I glance at the clock, which reads 12:10 a.m. I pause for a moment, wondering if I dreamed that someone was at the door or maybe something creaked in the hallway. Just as I'm about to lay my head back on the pillow, I hear it again.

I sit up abruptly and whisper-yell, "Who is it?"

"Alex."

I wipe my sleepy eyes and smile as my heart does flips in my chest at the prospect of seeing her even if it's terribly late at night.

I don't bother putting a robe on and answer the door in my red flannel pajamas. "Hi."

She smiles down at me. "Hey."

I open the door wider for her to enter. "What are you doing here?"

She steps inside, closing the door behind her, and wastes no time kissing me. Her lips are warm and taste like caramel. I could melt into her mouth.

She pulls back. "Merry Christmas."

I smile. "I guess it is officially Christmas day."

"I haven't uttered those words in four years." There's a sense of wonder in her voice.

I lead her the edge of the bed, and then I move to the bedside table to flick on the lamp. "How have you responded when people greet you with Merry Christmas?"

"I either just nod or said hello or good morning or whatever other greeting I can come up with that isn't Merry Christmas." She shrugs. "I couldn't even bring myself to wish them happy holidays," she pauses. "They weren't happy or merry to me...until now."

I sit next to her, taking her hand. "What changed?"

She outlines my face with her finger. "You."

"Me?"

"I'm not saying I'll sign up to be the next Santa Claus or anything, but you helped remind me that I have wonderful memories of Trish." She lifts her shoulders. "I've been dwelling on the tragedy that took her away from me, but that's not what she would want. Trish loved the holidays, and we spent years celebrating them together. The items in the attic brought back those happy times, and yeah, I shed a few tears, but they also made me smile…you made me smile."

"I'm happy to hear that."

"As crazy as it sounds, I want you in my life now, Piper," she says. "I don't know exactly what that will look like with us living so far apart, but if you want the same thing, I think we should discuss it."

I let out a joyous laugh. "I want that too, Alex."

She pulls me to her in a ferocious hug that's filled with such gratitude that it brings tears to my eyes. "Then let's make it happen," she whispers.

And so, just after midnight on December 25, Alex and I make a plan to never spend a Christmas apart. Turns out, she's all I ever wanted for Christmas.


	8. Chapter 8

Rated ML for 'mature light'

* * *

EPILOGUE

"Clara, you can't leave your hockey gear by the door." Alex stumbles over a duffle bag. "I keep telling you someone might trip, and guess what?"

Clara looks up innocently with a puzzle piece in her hand. "You tripped?"

"I tripped," she sighs. "Please put this stuff in your room."

"Oh, mom…" Clara stands.

"Don't _oh, mom_ me." Alex turns toward me with her hands on her hips. "You're just as guilty."

I point at my chest. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Your shoes belong either on the rack on the porch or in our closet."

I stand and mock-sigh. "_Oh, Alex_."

"Why do I have the feeling you're both conspiring against me?" Despite her protests, she wraps her arms around my waist. "It won't be funny when you have to wait on me hand and foot after I break my ankle."

"I promise I'll pick up my shoes." I kiss the side of her mouth. "I'd hate to see you hobbling around during the holidays."

"But any other time of year would be ok?" She returns my kiss.

Clara grabs the duffle bag, tosses it into her bedroom, then runs back. "I forgot to put this piece in the puzzle." She sits on the rug in front of the coffee table. "Piper, are you coming? We only have like 20 pieces left."

"Just a minute," I reply, getting more into this kiss with her mother. "Do you wanna…" I jut my head to the side.

"We'll be right back," Alex calls, dragging me to our bedroom.

She shuts the door, and our hands are instantly all over each other. Although I've lived here for two months, kissing Alex never gets old and it's difficult to get some privacy around here. Not that I'm complaining—Clara is just as wonderful as the day I met her almost exactly a year ago. Besides, she spends two nights a week at her grandma's house, giving Alex and I the privacy I crave.

"I see what you're trying to do," she says between kisses.

My lips trail down her neck. "What's that?"

"Distract me from the whole broken ankle thing." Her hands glide up my back.

"Alex?"

"Hmm?"

My lips return to her mouth. "Do you have a broken ankle?"

"No."

"Then I would appreciate it if you'd focus on what I'm doing to you rather than what might happen if I leave my shoes by the door." I snake my hand into her pants, and she moans.

"That's…" she begins, licking her lips. "Right there." She covers my hand with her own, forcing more pressure on her clit.

Alex's knees buckle, so I push the weight of my body against her to keep her standing. I kiss her deeply as my two fingers rub her sensitive nub harder and faster. It doesn't take long for her to cum, knees bending again and almost crumbling to the ground. Alex isn't loud when she cums, which for some reason surprised me the first time we had sex, but this one threatens to be louder than the others, so I ensure my lips are sealed against her mouth as her moans intensify. I steady her with one hand as I finish my ministrations on her clit before the orgasm subsides.

Finally, I pull away with what I'm sure is a smug grin.

"Proud of yourself?"

I shrug. "It's rare that I get to do that to you."

"Do what to me?"

"You're always the one who initiates sex. It was nice having it the other way around."

"If you ever have the desire to fuck me and we're afforded the privacy to do so, by all means, go for it." She kisses my forehead, then takes my hand as we head into the bathroom.

I chuckle. "I'll make a note of that." I wash my hands before glancing at myself in the mirror. "Am I ok?"

She nods. "Me?"

"Yep."

We walk back into the living room, and Clara is still hard at work on the puzzle.

"How's it going?" I roll up my sleeves.

"I can't do the dark parts very well."

"Let me see…" I sit across from her on the sofa and resume putting the Christmas-themed puzzle together.

Alex breezes into the kitchen. "Anybody ready for lunch?"

Clara raises her hand. "I am."

"I'll make sandwiches," she responds. "Turkey or ham?"

"Turkey," Clara and I say simultaneously.

"It's never going to be ham," I comment just above a whisper.

"I don't know why she always asks," Clara sighs.

I put one of the black puzzle pieces where it belongs. "I got it!"

"That's why I need you."

"That's the only reason—to help you with puzzles?" I chuckle.

"No." She blinks at me. "I need you for a lot of things."

Her statement surprises me. "You do?"

Clara nods. "Yeah, like helping me with my homework, piano lessons, making the best macaroni and cheese, giving me rides to my friends' houses…"

I smile. "I'm happy to help you with those things."

She picks up a blue puzzle piece. "And you make my mom happy."

I remain silent with wonder in my eyes at her proclamation.

Clara continues, "She was kind of grumpy around the holidays before you came along."

"There was a good reason for that," I explain.

She sticks the piece in the right corner. "I know, but you made her realize Christmas doesn't have to be sad."

"I'm glad I could help."

Clara puts one more piece to complete the star on the puzzle's Christmas tree. "I like having you here."

That touches my heart. "I like being here."

Her sweet eyes latch onto mine. "Are you going to leave?"

I give her a quizzical look. "I don't plan to, why?"

"Sometimes moms leave." She shrugs. "My friend Mia's mom left her dad."

I take her hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you and your mom."

"I love you, too." It's the first time she's said those words to me, and my eyes fill with tears.

"You're not supposed to cry when someone tells you that," Clara notes with a little giggle.

"I'm crying because it makes me happy to hear you say that."

I notice Alex in the entryway. "It makes me happy, too," she says as she approaches us.

"I didn't think it was a big secret that we all love each other," Clara points out.

She wraps her arms around her daughter. "It's just nice when you hear someone say it aloud."

"Ok." She wiggles out of her mom's grasp. "Are the sandwiches ready?"

"Yeah."

Clara runs into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Alex.

"Did you hear that?" I whisper.

She nods and smiles, joining me on the sofa. "I did."

"The past year has been challenging with me living in New York and only visiting for a couple days a month," I begin. "I wondered how that might affect Clara."

"I've been open with her from the start," Alex replies, making small circles on my back. "Not once did she complain about your presence in our lives; in fact, she loved when you came to visit." She pauses. "Clara was the one who asked when you would live here permanently."

"You never mentioned that."

"She loves you." Alex kisses my forehead. "So do I."

I wrap my arms around her. "Thank you for letting me into your life."

"We're far better off because of it," she whispers, kissing my ear.

Someone knocks on the door and swings it open. "Anybody home?"

Alex pulls back. "Hi, mom."

"Hi, kids."

Clara rushes into the living room with half a sandwich. "Are we going Christmas shopping?"

"I need to buy the gingerbread house supplies over in Littleton," Diane replies. "If you want, we can stop at the toy store so you can show me what you want for Christmas."

"I want a puppy," Clara replies.

Alex stands. "We've talked about this. No puppies until you're prepared to take care of it."

"I'm prepared now." She takes a bite of her sandwich.

"Tell you what." Alex bends down. "If you help John with the horses every day for the next two weeks, we can discuss getting a dog."

Her eyes light up. "Really?"

"Really."

"Yes!" She runs back into the kitchen. "I'm going to finish my sandwich in the car."

"You sure you don't need me to come along?" Alex asks her mom.

"Positive. You two enjoy some alone time."

"Thank you." I smile. "I'll help her with her piano solo when you get back."

Diane smiles back. "That would be great."

Clara sets her sandwich on the side table and shrugs into her coat. "Can I practice singing in the car?"

"You sure can," Diane replies, picking up the sandwich. "We'll sing together."

"Bye, mom and Piper!"

With that, the two of them depart.

"There's something soothing about a quiet house." I walk up to Alex. "Not that I don't love when Clara's here."

"I know what you mean." She takes my hand.

"Are you ready to go through a few more boxes?"

She nods. "One box a day has been good for me."

Although she wasn't quite ready to put up a Christmas tree, Alex has been far more open to decorating her house for the holidays and playing upbeat Christmas music. She still gets choked up on occasion, but it's not like last year, and I can't imagine what she was like the years before that. I've tried to be patient with her, allowing her to set the pace for how much she can handle on any given day, and that seems to have paid off.

I kiss her. "Lead the way."

She walks down the hallway, pulls down the cord to the attic ladder, and then climbs up. I haven't asked her why we simply don't bring the boxes into the living room, but I'm sure there's a reason.

Alex pulls out one item at a time, speaking nostalgically about each of them. Just like in the other boxes, there are two or three things that remind her of Trish, but the rest of the items are either family heirlooms or things she bought in her younger years. She gets to the bottom of the box and pauses.

I follow her gaze. "What's that?"

She takes out a small black box and opens it, eyes never leaving my face. Inside is a glistening diamond ring.

"Whose ring is that?" I ask.

"Yours," she replies. "If you want it."

I crease my forehead. "I don't understand."

"As you know, I don't believe in Christmas miracles, but there's no other way to explain how you came into my life," she begins. "You've been my rock, Piper, and I'm so fucking grateful to you."

My hands fly to my mouth when it dawns on me that Alex is _proposing_.

"The funny thing is, I could've proposed a year ago when we were in this attic," she chuckles. "But I didn't trust that this feeling could be so strong, so _real_, after having only known you for four days." Alex takes the ring out and presents it to me. "I fell in love with you then, and I love you even more now. So, what do you say? Will you marry me?"

I throw my arms around her, burying my face in her neck. "_Yes_!"

I feel her laugh against me before she pulls back. "I hope it fits."

I stick my hand out, allowing her to slip the diamond ring on my finger. "Alex, it's gorgeous."

"I'm glad you like it." She admires the ring on my hand before kissing me.

"I love it." I return the kiss. "And I love you more than I could possibly say."

And so, that marked the beginning of our lives together. We tied the knot the following December, turning memories of tragic Christmases past into glorious Christmases present.

THE END

* * *

Author's Note: Another Christmas story in the books! I hope you enjoyed reading this little tale. As you know, Christmas stories are my favorite to write. I hope I'm inspired a year from now to write one more. I _am_ working on another story, but don't expect anything for at least a couple months. Happy holidays to all of you and thanks for reading!


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